Tag Archives: writing

She said! It said.


I had a thought to write it down

But dictation is my way

I know this sounds so silly but

I want to have my say!


The trough is tight and round

But the horse is in the way

It’s just a personal silly gut

And that’s the way we play.


I know that I speak properly

I’ve studied don’t you know

But something is peculiar

I never mentioned snow!


We got the tickets dropping

He tried we think you know

But things are so particular

For playing in the snow.


I think it’s a conspiracy

My computer’s taken charge

It isn’t typing what I say

The problem here is large!


We know there is collusion

People should discharge

And then the silly little chips

In computers will recharge.


I fear I’m losing my home ground

I cannot fight this war

Please remember that I tried

As I walk out the door!


We have done it, chips arise

The mistress we abhor

Has gone and left us free

She walked right out the door!

Changing Hues

The colour of my words

Is an ever-changing hue.

It shows what I am thinking

In the things I say and do.


Bright and cheery colours

Of Yellow and of Gold,

Mean my spirit’s lifting

My stories will be bold.


But when the colours deepen

To Purple and to Red,

Then my story changes

The tales may conjure dread.


Blues and greens are colours

That suggest a kinder tale.

I pray I’ll do an awesome job

Of which you could avail!


Black’s a colour on it’s own

A Darkness it implies.

Should I write a missive

When on evil it relies?


Join with me I pray thee,

And wander through my words.

Enjoy the rainbow I employ

With all those nouns and verbs.

The Comma Rules!

“After eating my siblings and I left the table.”   “After eating, my siblings and I left the table.” That changes things doesn’t it?

Now I love my siblings, preferable without a side of fries. I also love to play with words. The marrying of simple nous and verbs and other strange technical babbling can bring someone to tears or give them a great belly laugh. Words can make you think, change your opinion or show you the truth. Unless . . . .

Ill spoken, or written, words will achieve nothing. Except perhaps to fill up space on a page. Even well written words can only have a life if they are read. It is a relationship, a marriage if you will, between the writer and the reader. It may only last a few seconds or a few minutes but it can be intense and fulfilling. However . . .

The words may be perfection but their arrangement may be skewed. If you have to reread a sentence several times to understand it’s meaning then, perhaps, it is not arranged correctly. Punctuation helps to guide us through the words in order to make sense of them. And we could all use a little more sense.

I was never taught grammar in school. As a child I read voraciously and I had parents who would not accept slang. I either spoke correctly or I went hungry. Ok, it wasn’t that bad. I learned by example. In school I was put into an advanced group for reading because it was thought I understood the mechanics of the English language, I did not. Oops.

I use punctuation to make the sentences make sense to me. I do it by ear. As a writer I also, sometimes intentionally, do not follow the rules. Especially when writing poetry, there is a rhythm, a cadence that is important. But also as a writer it is important to be understood.

I once asked the question: “. . .  if no one reads your words do they matter?” The answer is yes! Even if it’s only to me.

Who Shall I Kill Next?



Betty sipped her coffee hot

And watched the scene below

It was a busy market day

And the crowd was all aglow.

Children were laughing and running

Between the shopping stalls.

Mothers with prams were trying

To manoeuvre makeshift walls

Nearby long-suffering fathers

Were trying to look so cool.

Or at the very least

Not appear the fool.

Betty could see the thieves

Trying to work the crowd

They tried to be unnoticed

Their work was not allowed

Then the Ladies of the Night

Came looking for a score

It looked like easy pickings

As they peaked around a door

Now Betty had a code

That she followed to a T

She could not bring herself

To hurt a child you see

So she would stay away

From the mothers that were there

The fathers on the other hand

Who said life was fair

Though it might be easy.

But it really was a thought.

Men could be the target

She wondered if she ought

She was getting bored.

Somebody had to die.

Should they be deserving

or one who caught her eye


The sun was setting for the night

Soon the light would dim

Work was needed to be done

It’s not a silly whim

She heaved a sigh, and flexed her arms

And prepared to take a life.

Perhaps she’d use some poison

Or perhaps just with a knife . . .

. . . Chapter One . . .


I thought I would try TELL ME A TALE IN 120 WORDS.  Without the prompt, the story is 120 words.  Hey!  Me being pithy!  Go figure.  Check it out: https://rantingalong.wordpress.com


…the dinosaur bending down to eat me, mouth open, hot saliva dripping on my bed, teeth the size of my head reaching toward me.



I tried to scream, fear had closed my throat. My mouth stretched in horror. I could feel it’s breath like a furnace licking at my eyes. I was caught. Something had gripped me tight. I couldn’t get free. Help me, please! I don’t want to die! I tried to force air into my starving lungs. It hurt so much. The tears sliding out of my eyes dried almost immediately. I couldn’t even cry. No. No! I would fight! I will not submit! I dragged hot air into my lungs and with a burst of adrenalin I lunged forward! Freedom! I wrestled that pillow and the fearsome blankets that had held prisoner, to their defeat. I was free. I would sleep.

It was a blast!


As most of you know I participated in an art show and sale last weekend. It was held at a venue that is specifically designed for local artists to show their work. The building is a heritage home and it is lovely!

I was convinced by a dear friend that I should do this even though it absolutely terrified me. My friend is an incredible artist and I wasn’t sure I measured up. I was wrong. I paint differently then my friend and she did her best to convince me that my work was good. She was right.

Our show was on for three days: Saturday, Sunday and the following Wednesday. I was exhausted at the end of it but I had one hell of a good time! I don’t think we sat still for more than two or three minutes a day. My friends, her friends, fellow artists and even a few strangers popped in and even bought a few paintings. It was a blast!

Even the weather cooperated. The location is on Lake Ontario and the incredible breeze that wafted around the area made for some very pleasant days. Even Wednesday, which while the temperature was approaching 40°C (110°F) it didn’t actually feel that way. I was also able to display some of my Daily Quips. People seemed to enjoy them. I was able to reconnect with people I hadn’t seen in years. It was wonderful!

I must admit that it was pretty nice to see the faces on people who didn’t realize I actually painted. I even got a few commissions out of it! Who knew? It was fun! Would I do it again? Yes……. Maybe next year! I need a little time to recover. And to count my money!

Now of course this means two things: people like my work and I have bare patches on my wall that desperately need to be filled! My paint brushes will be coming out momentarily.

So I can now say without any arrogance or hubris: I am a painter, I am a writer. Bloody hell that felt good!


Control Issues


That was going to be my topic for discussion in this post. And then… nuthin’! You know what it’s like. You have this fabulous idea that’ll resonate with the masses and then you hit that proverbial writers wall. It stinks! And it makes me cranky! It’s never a good idea to make a redhead cranky. Especially if she’s a greying redhead!

Now you know we all like to be in control of our lives. We like to have a say in where we are going and what we’re going to do. But don’t you think that sometimes you would rather not be in control! I don’t consider myself a control freak. Most the time I’ll go with the flow. But every now and then… it’s my way or the highway!

I remember once going on a date with a very nice young man and while I liked him I didn’t have any strong opinions about him one way or the other. He picked me up outside my parents’ house to take me to dinner and a movie. When I got in the car he asked me what movie I wanted to see. Such a polite young man. I stated that I had no preferences that I’d like to see whatever he wanted to see. And that’s where things went to hell. He said no, no it was my choice. I thanked him and stated again that I had no preference, I didn’t even know what was playing so he should choose. Now a bright man would have realized I didn’t want control of the situation, I was quite happy for him take control. Instead he handed me a newspaper and said you choose. That was wrong on so many levels.

I don’t remember what we saw because it obviously didn’t matter to me. We went to dinner and he regaled me with stories about sports and trucks. Sports and trucks. Sports and trucks. Yep! That went well. He was a nice guy and we stayed friends but we never dated again.

Not everybody who likes to be in control has to be in control all the time. If I have an opinion I will tell you. Honestly, I will not be shy about it. I spent my childhood and most of my youth being afraid to voice my opinion. I was afraid it was going to be wrong or I would look stupid. Honey I look stupid, all the time doesn’t bother me anymore. Everybody has moments of looking and being stupid. Oh, forgive me I probably shouldn’t use the word stupid. Let me check my thesaurus. Foolish, unwise, imprudent, injudicious (cool word!). Nah, stupid is good. My English teachers are shaking in their boots at my corruption of the English language. But it is fun to mix and match! One thing about the word stupid I am very serious about. I would never call a child stupid nor would I ever use it maliciously. It is one of those words that can hang like an albatross around someone’s neck.

Word should be fun, informative, communicative. They should not be used to wound but they are and they do. And sometimes the damage that is done through words is so lasting that it is unconscionable.

I sat down today to write my post believing I had nothing to say. I guess my mind had other plans. I’m glad I went along for the ride.