140/365

Ever been so exhausted that everything just hurts so much?
Your brain feels foggy and you’re in your pj’s before 8pm?

That pretty much sums up today… anything that hasn’t got done by now, isn’t getting done, I’m utterly immobile. Even finding something to watch feels like too much of an effort. 

I’m pushing myself a lot currently,  basically because I just have myself …
… don’t get me wrong,  this is a good tired, the result of hours of work and I think I’ve caught the sun and little. So if this doesn’t make too much sense tonight,  it’s possibly because I need sleep. 

Being focused and being proactive truly feels better than scribbling plans that never come to life, I might be shattered,  but it’s worth it …

You’ll have to forgive my nonsense tonight, sometimes writing is so difficult especially when the body is physically drained… want food want sleep

… Start all over again tomorrow!!

Anne Harrison 20.05.18

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139/365

Faith in humanity restored…

After yesterday’s diabolical panic attack, I was left feeling numb. Disinclined to venture far from my bed for fear of rising anxiety and insecurity. For an hour and a half I felt frozen within myself. Overwhelmed by the thought of mundane weekly chores, even eating did not appeal to me. I had a stress headache and churning thoughts self loathing.

All because I was put in a situation that caused me to panic.

An hour and a half of the day that I won’t recover in my life. An hour and a half mulling over yesterday, feeling like this was all my fault, that I should be stronger…

But different things cause people to react in very different ways and how can I blame myself for something beyond my control? Panic attacks, don’t come with an early warning system they side swipe you off your feet and I felt totally detached from my body until I could breathe again.

An hour and a half of processing tumbling emotions left me with a definite conclusion, I was going to do something radical…

That being change my hair from the faded plum and old pale blue to something completely different… Black to Red to Yellow!

I sat down, most of the morning, feeling ugly yet pampered. Knowing my eyes will clear up and recover from such heavy sobbing. I actually allowed myself to relax in the hairdressers chair, chat or remain silent. Listening or people watching. I felt calm, I felt transformed and a bit of guilt for spending money on myself so extravagantly.

***

However, upon my bike ride home, fate took a awkward turn for the unnecessary… In the form of a flat tyre about a mile and a half from home.

Yesterday, in yesterday’s frame of mind… I would have snapped… But instead I sat my bum down in the dust and started to figure out repairs. Alas (new bike, different tyres, wrong bike pump) all thwarted my attempts, I neglected my task and proceeded to walk/push…

Along the way a couple kindly stopped their bikes and came to my aid. With their high tech gear and gorgeous bikes, I kinda felt a pumpkin on my pretty blue sit-up-and-beg but nether the less they were a tremendous help, with the right kit and the aid of a spontaneous YouTube video (on bike valves) we got air into my tyre and still it descended flat again.

Conclusion is I have a puncture and so I walked the rest of the way home, paused for an ice cream and pondered how much can happen within a day?!

Had I remained at home, I would have not ventured far from my bed… I didn’t want to leave my bed… But I did and I have shiny curls, my faith in humanity restored and a puncture to fix!!

Anne Harrison 19.05.18

138/365

I think I’ve just popped.

Everything, after all these long months of just carrying on and carrying on and carrying on have just abruptly exploded in a fountain of tears… And once again (like on day…) I am left with the inescapable feeling that I can not talk / turn to anyone.

Can’t breathe during a panic attack and I can’t touch my eyes… They’re so painful.

So here I sit, working through my lunchtime because I can not eat. Silence is all consuming and I’m shaking inside.

I’m utterly humiliated and I’m wondering why I’m even writing this?

See, it’s like this… Very simply, I find that when I try to talk, I’m greeted with a dismissive response.

So I’ve given up trying to explain. I just carry on and carry on and carry on. Again.

I suppose a little pop is good for getting stacked up tears out of your system. So I suppose this will help, in some way?

People want to ‘end the stigma’ on mental health, encouraging people to talk and be open. But how is that even possible?

Because I don’t have a mental health issue. But I do get anxiety in certain circumstances. I am even prone to the occasional panic attack, but these are only (thankfully) few and far between.

So I should be able to deal with them without getting myself in such a state.

However, this got me thinking, about how I have developed a system of conversation where I can happily chat away and not actually say anything.

Perhaps that’s my super power, to be invisible in conversations. To be alone in a crowd.

I’m feeling fragile, but I don’t have any mental health issues so I have nothing to say about how I feel.

… Only apologise humiliated …

And carry on and carry on and carry on (again)…

If you are reading this and you know me, I’m fine honest, just clearing my head…

If you are reading this and you don’t know me, pay attention to your quiet friends, for they usually have the most to say…

Today I am thankful for my blog, this has given me the time and chance to get my mind straight, I’ve nearly stopped trembling, so that is a good thing, shows writing helps and it feels more comfortable than more tears..

So here is a picture of BB8…

… You’re welcome xx

Love, Anne Harrison 18.05.18

137/365

A small collection of quotes, cartoons and other curious snippets of information
relating to The Wonderful World of Writing

 

 www.authorspublish.com

 

 Source Unknown

 

It really works --http://chir.ag/projects/tip-of-my-tongue/http://chir.ag/projects/tip-of-my-tongue/

 

 Tumblr

 

The problem with books being made into movies.Pinterest

 

The Impact of a Book , Jorge Méndez Blake - the impact one book can have on something that seems immovable.

The Impact of a Book , Jorge Méndez Blake 
The impact one book can have on something that seems immovable

 

lost ideashttp://www.incidentalcomics.com/

 

The struggle is real.Tumblr

 

Yup, pretty much.http://debbieohi.com/

Books all day everyday!http://wheresmybubble.tumblr.com/

 

Enjoy!

 

Anne Harrison  17.05.18

136/365

… So after a few days engaged in a mad creative spree… Yes! The pretend writer actually writes something, something which I feel could actually continue with one day (she says hopefully) or simply leave it as a short story ??? *Undecided* But it has been nice to share a little writing instead of my usual brain vomit …

However…

Image result for and now for something completely different

 

… It’s time for more silly pointless shenanigans …

 

 

First – Def Leppard – Tuesday 15th September 1987 – De Montfort Hall Leicester

 

 

Last – The Urban Voodoo Machine – Saturday 5th May 2018 – The Donkey Leicester

 

 

 

Next – Uprising – Next Week – De Montfort Hall Leicester

 

Uprising

Uprising
Uprising is back at De Montfort Hall for a third year running.

This year will focus on the Metal 2 The Masses final and will also pride itself in showcasing some of the best self-signed and unsigned bands from around the country, some of which have graced most of the major UK festivals.

The acts currently playing across the Uprising weekend are:
Crazyhead
Garganjua
Krysthla
@Sumer
The Crawling
In Search Of Sun
Raised By Owls
Internal Conflict
Footprints In The Custard
King Leviathan
Blood Oath
Dog Tired
Winter Storm
Stormbringer

… Doesn’t that look exciting?!?!

 

I suppose my music tastes have always retained an underlying love for Metal ever since the 1980’s, which still lingers to this day and consumes most of my music collection but it is not limited to one genre alone – I love music, being surrounded by music. At home, at live gigs/festivals, even trying to learn an instrument (trying) I possibly stand a better chance to develop my skills with a beautiful new bow …

 

Music is defiantly in my blood and inspires my writing at times – I’m one of these writers who needs music to keep me company  – Silence is too distracting – Music develops a soundtrack to life!

 

Anne Harrison  16.05.18

135/365

Last Part …

***

Declan sat down and sipped his brandy. “If you did not send me an invitation, why was I so easily accepted into the ‘Council’?” He asked.

“There was a letter, indication to expect you and that you were highly recommended by…” Doctor Croft halted mid-sentence to seek out the letter and Declan once again shuffled through the paperwork in his briefcase.

Finally both documents were placed side by side.

One invitation – One recommendation.

Same handwriting – Same wax seal.

Same signature – Same crest.

Same name – Rutan!

“Well this is a conundrum.”  Daniel mused.

“Maybe it would help if we understood the context of the rhyme?” Julieta asked.

Declan nodded, “Around ten to twelve thousand years ago, the Mahabharata Ramayana and other sacred texts recorded a terrible war between Rama and…”

“The short version please!” Daniel sighed; this really was no time for a history lesson.

“Oh… Oh of cause…” Declan thought quickly to explain the whole story as simply as possible. “An ancient Indian demon was trapped by an ancient Arabic magician. This creature’s physical form was trapped and bound magically in a sarcophagus, then its spirit, or essence as it were, was banished into limbo.” He paused pondering over recent events and discussions the ‘Council’ engaged in the previous evening.

Julieta tilted her head to one side, waiting for Declan to continue, yet it was Doctor Croft who picked up the thread. “I believe this sarcophagus has been discovered and is destined for display in the London Natural History Museum.”

There were gasps and mumbles of concern amongst the gentlemen…

He continued “My research has lead me to believe that it has broken free with some foolish aid, which is why I have had Declan engaged in the Arabic translation for the banishment, without its ‘spirit’ it is weak, if both parts were unified, then it could unleash devastation equal to events recorded in the Mahabharata Ramayana.”

The ‘Council’ fell silent as the enormousness of the situation dawned upon them; the hypothetical theological debates they had discussed were suddenly a very real course of action the supernatural was encroaching upon the mundane with possible catastrophe.

“There is but one part of the translation which continues to perplex me.” Declan admitted, “It is said this demonic spirit may be unleashed from limbo to reunite with its physical being upon a ‘Black Moon’ … I’m aware that the new moon may also be referred to as a dark moon, yet the translation is clearly Black, not Dark.” He sighed and shook his head.

Julieta scoffed, causing her fellows to turn to regard her.

“A ‘Black Moon’ gentlemen, is when there are two dark moons within one calendar month, the second dark moon, is referred to as a ‘Black Moon’… and that is tonight!”

***

“I refuse! I no longer care for power nor will I aid you!” The Professor mustered up some frail courage in the face of extreme horror.

“Free me!” It bellowed, shaking the walls, causing dust to fall from fresh cracks in the tall ceiling. “Free me and I will save your precious Petra.” It promised.

Demetris turned to face the dark mirror, catching his own reflection in the black glass, eyes wild, corrupted by the degenerate force. He fancied that he could see a light snow falling within the surface, a pale hand reaching out with hope.  The illusion caused him to chuckle, as he felt his own sanity slipping away, to free the beast from the void was madness! “You will free Petra?” He heard himself say, hardly believing that the words came from his very lips.

“Yes….” It whispered, stepping up behind the Professor. “I need her only as a beacon in the dark and then she will be free.” It lied. “To be with you.”

***

She spent a while trying to remember events up to this point and all she could focus on were the voices in the darkness… Indeed they were still there, whispering around in her. If she concentrated Petra found that she could hone in on one single voice at a time.

And there was something more disturbing… But she dare not focus on that…

It was then she slowly realised that she had no corporeal form, she was simply thought.  A wisp of smoke drifting in void, unable to comprehend the situation, she found herself trying to tell herself it was nought more than another vivid dream. If she had a form it would have shivered, but as it was she closed her non-existent eyes and shed invisible tears.

***

The Professor felt detached from reality as he started to utter the ancient arcane incantation that would unite the fiend with its banished spirit – making it whole again – darkness fell across the room as the evocation stirred up entities within the ether. Petra’s life force shone like a bright silver beacon to the corrupt forces locked in limbo the words awoke them and the light of a pure soul guided them, yet the chant could only summon one, they only needed one to free them all…

It awoke; it felt the presence of its physical form beyond the glass illuminated by the frightened woman in a ruined costume. Shaking away fragments of a bored slumber it slithered forth, the sea of maundering evil parted, creating a path for this one, as it approached the ritual reached its crescendo.

***

With Declan, Julieta and Daniel being the youngest members of the ‘Council’ they sprinted ahead towards the Museum upon arrival it was Daniel and his questionable skills with locks which allowed them to gain entrance. Julieta near fainted as she crossed the threshold the immense energy unleashed by the demonic entity clouded her psychic mind and darkness threatened to overwhelm her thoughts. Declan swiftly caught the swooning woman and held her to her feet which she regained control of herself, focusing her abilities to guide the two men towards the Arabic display.

As the Professor threw his head back pitch rising as the bizarre language spilled forth from his lips with surprising ease. Tears of pure fear ran down his face as the wretched spawn at his back giggled manically.

Declan instantly knew the words, but froze in fear, astounded by the sight before him.  Julieta clung to his arm and Daniel issued forth a colourful profanity.

“You have to stop him!” Julieta shook Declan’s arm, but Declan found his mind had gone blank.

That was when the demon turned to confront the intruders, it sneered at the three companions. “Fools!” It jeered, “You’re too late!” its laughter was enough to chill the soul.

The Professor blinked, startled by the arrival of the strangers, he stuttered over his words and fell silent.

“No! Finish the incantation! You cannot cease now!”

More cracks fractured the ceiling as the floor trembled from the dreadful outcry.

“Finish!” Dust fell around them, “Finish or the darling Petra remains trapped!”

Declan started to recite the words of the banishment, he could not risk everything for the sake of one soul, it was dreadfully regrettable, but there was no choice.

With a resigned nod the broken professor joined in with Declan, giving strength to the charm of exile. Both men chanted the ancient words in unison, diluting the creatures’ energy, sealing the mirror and preventing the foul union.

The mirror frame and the crowning tiara rejected themselves from one another, the frame ejecting the tiara from their former bond; it fell with a light tinkle as the final words completed the ritual. Silence fell, dust fell and the dark entity had fled.

The Professor collapsed gibbering, cackling… “May the screams in your head be the last thing you hear.” Daniel said, as he hoisted the insane man to his feet…

Julieta picked up the tiara and looked into the mirror with deep regret.

***

Several days later on a sunny afternoon Doctor Croft was seated by the French windows of the library. “Blanche?” He called over to the silent maid. She blinked startled by his use of her actual name and curiously approached the elderly man. He handed her a silken swathed gift, confused she carefully unwrapped the material to reveal the ancient tiara.

“We will find your sister.” He promised.

 

***

 

“Blimey!” One workman exclaimed to the other. “This’s bloody heavy!”

“’ere watch yer tongue.” His companion scolded as the two men hoisted the cumbersome relic up the final flight of stairs to a store room on the top floor at the ‘Et Consilium eiusdem duodecim’ estate.

Left in silence the artifact stood alone encased in thick sheets and a wooden case, yet the jarring movement had caused a single crack across the corner of the black glass, the mirror split and a small shard fell free from the frame… Fluttering leather like wings pressed hard against the damaged surface; however it was frail pale fingers that breached the gap frantically seeking freedom…

 

Anne Harrison 15.05.18

134/365

To Continue:

***

With no time to ponder over the peculiar visualization, Petra prepared herself for the show; swiftly the images left her mind as she focused on her footwork, pouring her heart and soul into the role of ‘Giselle’ a cruelly betrayed pheasant girl, who returns from the grave. The Professor watched from his box in total adoration, yet he was not the only one who observed this performance with intense expectation.

The dark host awaited in the wings.  The unique tiara complimented her delicate costume and caught the limelight glistening with an innate shimmer, however it became tighter as she danced increasing pressure on her brow, Petra became dizzy and disorientated she swooned and collapsed onto the boards.

An audible gasp issued forth from the audience as the performance was halted; a stage hand called for a doctor and a very pale frail Petra was carried from the stage.  Professor Demetris Tagtgren stood yet found himself frozen to the spot, by his own fear or supernatural forces he could not tell, only that he watched helpless as his delicate dancer was removed from sight.

“What have I done?!”

Eventually he fought back his fear and found the courage to move, he lied his way back stage on the pretence of being a medical doctor to get to his precious Petra. Frantically arguing with staff, though his mind was plagued by the dreadful scene he witnessed, his beloved stumbling and collapsing mid-performance, that wretched tiara shimmering like a morbid token of his betrayal.

Finally he persuaded staff to allow him to the stricken woman, however, as the dressing room door swung open unaided, a cold spear of reality struck him hard – the dressing room was empty – Petra was gone and this was entirely his fault.

***

Declan fumbled with his briefcase pulling papers free from their neat order.

“The Poem! That rhyme!” He exclaimed as he detangled his journal from the ‘Evening Standard’ discarding the newspaper to one side as he searched through this notes – Finally finding the translation he had been working on – an exact replica to the words issued forth from the spirit world.

“My dear boy!” Doctor Croft read through Declan’s detailed notes, there was no discrepancies, the translation and the psychic message were perfectly identical and furthermore, there was no way for Julieta to have read his journal, his briefcase had been within his sight all day.

“The passage is taken from the Arabic scrolls I had been working on last night.” Declan explained, referring to the documents which had caused him to call upon Doctor Croft that very morning in such a state of distress.

 

Daniel casually picked up the newspaper as they spoke, the conversation causing ripples of speculation amongst the gentlemen who huddled in to bear witness to any more revelations. Julieta sat back sipping her water, exhausted yet intrigued by the turn of events.

“There is more!” Declan continued, pausing to nod briefly to thank the maid, who had presented him with a welcome brandy. “A banishment!”

The ‘Council’ erupted into a mass debate…

“Could it be free?”

“How? It would need aid, it cannot just break forth.”

“We need to find it.”

“And do what?”

“The banishment.”

“The banishment needs to be performed by a medium.”

“Poppycock that is just heresy.”

“Where would we find it?”

“This is no evidence.”

“We need to find it before it can complete the ritual!”

 

The deliberation continued amongst the men, raised voices and speculation.

Julieta regarded Daniel who appeared absorbed in the newspaper.

“You have nothing to input? That is unlike you.” She smiled against the rim of her glass.

“Just puzzled over a name I reckon I ought to know.”

She listened to him, even as the rest continued their urgent discussion.

Daniel handed her the paper to display an advertisement for the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House.

“Petra Rutan.” He indicated to the illustration of the French dancer, “Where have I heard the name ‘Rutan before?” Daniel mused; Julieta shook her head, unfamiliar with the name.

“Rutan?” Declan turned his attention to Daniel, who nodded in affirmation.

“What a coincidence.” Declan chuckled “Rutan, why that is the very same name which was on my invitation to join the ‘Council’.”

His companions fell silent, each looking from one to the other with total confusion.

Finally Doctor Croft placed a firm hand upon Declan’s shoulder.

“My dear Mr Robinson, we sent you no invitation.”

***

The Professor knew exactly where to go, for he had foolishly shown the access way through to a closed wing of the museum, where the former tomb of the dark entity was stored in an unfinished Arabic display. He was trembling with anxiety so badly that he could barely get his keys from his pocket – though it was a redundant act – the lock savagely broken and the door swung slowly open upon its own accord.

A resounding hissing laughter filled him with dread, yet somehow he forced himself to move forth towards the unfinished display area and the awaiting fiend.

“Where is she?” He demanded, with as much gusto as he could summon.

“You’re too late Professor!” It slithered towards him – stealing the light – forever encased in shadows. Demetris looked around the display frantically seeking any sign of the demure Petra, spying nought but a torn strip from her costume, the professor lunged forwards towards the entity – anger replacing his fear – yet he was forced to his knees by the overwhelming evil emanating from the otherworldly creature.

“Soon Professor, your failure will be absolute!” It hissed, venom dripping with every word.

It tore away a soiled dust sheet from a heavy ornate mirror, the glass dark, the frame created from the same alien metal as the tiara – the tiara which was now merged into the frame, crowning the arching apex of the demonic design – the two items appearing melted into each other.

The Professor groaned in despair as the reality of the situation tipped the fragile scales of sanity in his mind towards madness.

“You know the incantation Professor; you personally desired to wield the power that I can bestow upon you!” It seethed with pure evil, its words perfectly true. “You were a fool to fall in love with The Dancing Temptress, there needs to be a beacon. I need to be whole again!” it roared.

***

Anne Harrison 14.05.18