THESE MADE MY DAY. SERIOUSLY go look at all 26!
Obviously, I’ve only written about half of the book so far. But as far as the good people at National Novel Writing Month are concerned, I finally made it. Thank you everyone who had been so supportive and/or demanding of my posting. I promise I’m about to hit you with more soon (I admit to straying into writing in random scenes once more as the deadline came crashing down). Once more, you all rock.
Good evening to those in North America and good day/night/fill-in-correct-time-of-day to everyone else abroad,
For those of you kind enough to indicate excitement, the time has come for our first guest author to make an appearance. Mutiny Mama has an adorable little blog you can find at
. She’s got a wonderful flare for the subtly (and occasionally not-so-subtle) humor, and a refreshing perspective on daily life and the endeavors of motherhood.
Cheers and please enjoy!
Red shoes and regret . . .
A pair of red shoes occupies one corner of my desk. Amidst a sea of papers, a changing guard of pens and pencils and an ever-growing tower of books that simply must be read – these shoes are the one and only constant.
Once upon a time, many moons ago, they were my very best shoes. Red patent leather, a delicate punch hole trim and shiny, silver buckles – they were everything the perfect shoe should be.
If those shoes were lined up alongside my outfit for the day, I knew something special was on the cards.
But there came a day when those much-loved shoes lost a little of their sheen.
It was the late-1970s. I was three years old and living in an age of innocence . . . or so my mother thought.
On this particular day – I think it was summer – the red shoes were strapped onto my feet and we set off on a grand adventure . . . to the library.
“Ah,” I hear you gasp. Yes, it was a very special playgroup outing – no paint-stained dungarees, over-sized hand-me-downs or miss-matched socks that day. No, sir-ee. This was a day for wearing what was ‘best’.
We arrived at the library and were greeted at the front gate not by a middle-aged, be-spectacled woman urging us to be quiet, but by a workman, trowel in hand and covered in cement splatter. It seems the council was pouring new paths at the library and the warning was clear. “Keep off the fresh cement”.
That was all it took to plant the seed that would grow into this tale.
We were ushered inside. I hate to admit it today, but I was already bored. I remember spying a Miffy book up high on a spinning rack but after repeated attempts to reach it and no help forth-coming, I gave up and trudged back outside.
You know what happened next.
Yes, I made a long line of footprints in the brand new path.
But, curiously and most notably, I didn’t get into trouble.
The workman was so concerned about the damage to my shiny, red shoes that he whisked me out of the grey mire and swiftly deposited me under a tap.
Mum was horrified, but ever so grateful for his thoughtfulness.
It was the general consensus that I was far too young to understand what I’d done wrong. It was an innocent mistake. No permanent harm done.
But today, those shoes tell a slightly different tale. To me, at least.
The leather has cracked, the red has worn through and the silver buckles no longer shine quite like they used to.
As they sit upon my desk, they’re a reminder of that long ago age of innocence when I knew more than I let on and enjoyed a brief spell of life without consequences.
Perhaps that’s why I still love red shoes to this day.
This is hilarious. And also some very good advice…
I highly recommend reading this in the British accent with which it was intended. To those writers, readers, and other bystanders to whom tea is as bloody exciting as it is to me presently, enjoy
Hey ya’ll the first part of Chapter 8 is up. I’ll admit that I’m finding this writing chronologically stuff a bit tedious lately. I’ve been considering reverting to writing scene by scene all over the place for a while. Then maybe I can ensure that a little more is happening. Let me know what you think?
Oh and by the way, Coal Creek and Powder Ridge are real places. Colt Buckman is a real person too (Perhaps a bit of several people, but vastly influenced by one in particular) Here’s a picture of the actual town that Coal Creek is based on :) I’d add Colt in too, but that’d would definitely be pushing my luck.
Today November 7th is Liam Griffin’s twenty-first birthday. It also marks the first day in the story Gunshot Glitter by UK author, Yasmin Selena Butt. Check out her blog and her novel sample above (and if you’re like me, read the first seven sample chapters on amazon in one sitting).
Please check back as yours truly will eventually be privileged with a interview by Yasmin Selena to be posted here at a later date!