Falling

Spirit. The spirit in your bones,

In your flesh,

Lurking in the fine connections of your brain.

Lightning. Ideas. Drive.

Dive from the precipice,

Weightless and heavy, both.

Free falling

Into the beautiful chaos

Of the lifestream,

Igniting your inner universe.

There is no disappointment,

No fear, no expectations.

Only the blinding essence

Of you.

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On making good art

It lets me examine it

smoothing my hands along its contours

gazing into each space, searching those pocket spaces

for wisps of goodness

where I can spend time being myself.

 

Sometimes

it shows me my mistakes

sometimes

I can see future pictures of wells

where I jump into the unknown.

 

If I walk past it in the morning

I see one thing.

If I walk past it a minute later,

I see another.

 

If I stumble to down to my hands and knees,

not looking at it directly but from the corner of my eye

I can see every part of it, pixel fine.

Or nothing at all.

Estimated time of arrival: unknown

Sitting on the empty sofa in the waiting room

Waiting

To be called;

Palms sweaty, throat small, mind cogs grinding

Every eventuality.

Not the doctor’s, not the dentist, not even

The school nurse’s office.

The sofa is not a sofa.

It is a stark white chair outside your

Parents’ study,

And you are waiting

Waiting

For them to notice.

 

 

Crepuscular (in response to an interview with Neil Gaiman)

Sometimes, my eyes feel like

swollen pearls

liquefying down my cheeks.

I stumble, blind,

from the doors of famous

enough,

over to the council of too

famous, or famous too.

My voice can fill

but no longer be heard.

I must consider if,

simply,

I am tomorrow’s forgotten things.

 

The interview that inspired this can be found here

Manicure

I dip my hands into the grey. Confront it. Speak my mind. The grey sticks to my fingertips. Oil slick. Washing up liquid is repelled by it. Water too. A glove; second skin. Black and white is not my colour.

Favourite authors and writing influences

Having just finished reading an early book by Diana Wynne Jones (early as in published in 1975) and then seeing Reflections – her collected essays and thoughts – on my shelf, I had to pick it up and flick through it. Looking at several pages at random, I found myself laughing aloud, as I often do when reading her books, and thought it was about time I talked about some of my favourite authors (really only a handful from a whole sack of rice)…and yes, she is number one on that list.

My first introduction to DWJ was a collection of books from her Chrestomanci series, gifted to me by my grandmother when I was about ten. When I read them at the time, I thought they were interesting, but I know I didn’t fully absorb them properly because my attention was more on Harry Potter, and so I was half-hearted in my reading of other books. Then, shortly after the film Howl’s Moving Castle by Studio Ghibli came out, I learned that it was based on a book of the same name, written by DWJ. I remembered her writing style, and thought I’d give the book a try – and I was absolutely blown away. It’s very different to the film (I love both, as separate entities) and there was so much humour in it and the characters were so engaging that it easily became one of my favourite books, and still is. I then re-read the Chrestomanci books I had, and couldn’t believe I’d missed how good they really were. Since then, I’ve been steadily adding to my collection of her books, and she really was (I say ‘was’ because, for those of you who don’t know, she passed away in 2011) one of those authors who is consistently brilliant, with inspiring, believable worlds and a writing style that spurs my author envy no end. I really could ramble on about how much I love her all day, but for now I’ll just say, if you haven’t read any of her books yet, pick one up right away.

Next on my list is David Eddings, whose Belgariad series I practically grew up with. It was my first brush with epic fantasy (I’d heard of LOTR, but until the films came out, I wasn’t interested), and his whole magic system of the Will and the Word made so much sense that I wanted it to be real. I also wanted a white lock in my hair like one of the characters, too (Polgara the Sorceress), but then I was only 11/12. I’ve read and re-read this series, and its  sequel, the Mallorean, so many times that the characters are pretty much family, and I will probably always have a copy in my collection. I’ve read some of his other works, too; The Elenium, The Tamuli, The Redemption of Althalus and the companion books to the Belgariad series, Belgarath the Sorcerer and Polgara the Sorceress (I should mention that he worked with his wife, Leigh Eddings, so equal credit should go to her, too, though her name is only on some of his works – apparently a marketing move by the publisher). Unfortunately, now I’ve read more into the lore of LOTR, I can see how many ideas Eddings borrowed, and that does irk me a bit, but I can’t say he outright plagiarized Tolkien because the story and characters are very different. (For clarity, Eddings has a whole system of Gods and backstory as to how the world in The Belgariad was made. Only recently did I discover that Tolkien had his own Gods, too, and Eddings’ really are similar.)

I believe Garth Nix is a worthy third, because his Abhorsen series is a thing of beauty. Were it not for my nostalgic feelings, his work would actually beat Eddings. Anyway, the reason why I love Nix is because of how well-developed his magic system, geography and Necromancy rules are, as well as how relatable his characters are (for me, Lirael in particular – I’d want nothing more than to stroll around in the Clayr’s library). I also like his Keys to the Kingdom series and Seventh Tower series, which are aimed at a slightly younger age-group.

Cornelia Funke ensnared me with Inkheart at the age of 13 (interestingly, the same age as her character, Meggie). I borrowed the book from my school library and gobbled it up so quickly that I didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards. A book about booklovers and characters wandering out from the pages – how could I not love it? (I love the film as well, and for an interesting bit of trivia, Cornelia sent Brendan Fraser a copy of the book, saying that he inspired her character, Mortimer, who he played on screen). After that I discovered The Thief Lord (which is based in Venice, and though I have never been there, I now feel as though I have), Dragon Rider (the sequel of which has just been released in the UK) and Igraine The Brave, all of which are fantastic, not to mention Inkspell and Inkdeath, which complete the Inkheart world.

Unsurprisingly, I have to mention JK Rowling here too, because I am a huge Potterhead and I think she is awesome in her own right – she really did work hard and went through some terrible times in her life, yet she persevered through it all. However, with the other authors mentioned above, their work made me want to write, whereas Harry Potter just made me want to read and be completely absorbed by her world. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I thought I’d just mention it.

So that’s that. As I said above, this is just a sample of my favourite authors – I have MANY more – but it’s getting late and I need to sleep at some point.

Kat out.

Mindset

I’m in an uncertain mood.

 

Uncertain if the days

are long

or if my mind is simply

short.

 

How many times does a person nod

when you’re not writing

about them?

 

Does the sun mind

that we can’t look at it,

or does it laugh

because we can,

just not in the way we think?

 

Have you heard the rumour

that a dripping tap

collects its drips

in a glass,

and then drinks them?

 

Did you watch the rumour

as it spilled from my lips

when I saw the tap

drink its drips

because the sun laughed

even when it felt sad

that no-one could look upon it

when, in fact, the person only nodded,

twice,

when they realised

my mind is short

and the day is long?

 

My mood is uncertain of me.

Orbit

My foot

pounds down on the road.

The impact charges up my leg,

vibrating muscle, fat and skin.

The other leg comes down

and the force pushes the ground to breaking;

it can’t even breathe.

 

The weight of will

wishing to beat it from my mind

is heavy.

 

I gasp.

I gulp.

I drink in the air

and the wind cries with me,

flying by my side.

 

My strong legs can’t go on forever.

Eventually, the track will loop on itself

and I’ll end up back

where it all began.

 

I can picture it now;

myself a spectator of myself.

Watching from the start,

cringing at the beginning,

then appreciating the work it took

to build the foundations

I have now.

 

I cannot run for eternity.

But planets don’t stand still, either.