Dust, it’s everywhere!

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Lately, my life is all about DIY.

And to paraphrase Robin Williams in Aladdin, “Dust, it’s everywhere! Get used to it.”

This is me, demonstrating a somewhat cavalier disregard for basic safety, by forgetting to wear goggles. Nice, dusty eyelashes.

And this is one of the causes of the dust – a crazily cracked wall, which I dug out, filled, and then sanded. Cheaper than a plasterer, but a lot messier, and the finished product might not last as long. We shall see…

Balancing the renovation work with family life is okay, I just do it while they’re at school. But writing? It’s just not happening. Last week I didn’t even manage the 100 word Friday Fictioneers challenge.

Obviously, I need to come up with a plan. This renovation is going to be with us for months yet, so I need a daily (realistic) word count target, or my writing will just dry up.

I’m aiming for 500 words a day.

Now – just need to find my keyboard under that dust sheet…..

Seeking to Renovate

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French ruin

“Matthew, look at this place!” the wife exclaimed, exploding out of his car before the agent immobilier had even turned off the engine.

Her husband followed, clasping the details, while his feral children shrieked towards the stream.

Luc hung back, lighting a cigarette.

Already, the Englishman was muttering about roofing, plumbing… but still he waited.

“Matthew!”

Finally.

Luc found them huddled round the photograph, drinking up its coffee-coloured glimpse of yesteryear: buckets of geraniums; lace framed windows; charming French family at the door.

“We’ll take it.”

Of course.

Sometimes imagination wasn’t enough.

Sometimes clients needed his wife’s skills with Photoshop.

 

 

Photo by Piya Singh (Bittercharm)

 All constructive criticism gratefully received.

My husband’s a Borg

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Following on from a previous post, in which I make my spaniel look like an earless freak, this is what my husband did to himself.

Step One

Borg glassesTake a regular pair of glasses, and tape on a magnifying lens, (with packing tape, no need to be fussy here).

Step Two

Wear your new glasses for close soldering work.

Little bit steam punk, little bit sci-fi…..

…………..100% Borg.

(Ear appendage supplied separately)

 

 

The Great Storm

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Photo by Lura Helms from Madison Wood’s site

The horned skull stared blankly from within the crook of a tangled oak.
“On the night of the Great Storm, livestock was swept up and hurled all over these woods,” my father said. “Cars…..trucks……”
We passed skeletons of twisted iron, and teenagers wrestling a blackened elm for the radiator grill lodged at its heart.
Kneeling down, his eyes met mine. “You got angry, son.  I understand.”
I stared back.
“I was angry too – when your mother died… ” He stumbled over the words. “But all this …“
“It won’t happen again, Father.”
He suppressed a shudder as I spun the Vortex quietly between my palms.
“Good lad.”

 

All constructive criticism gratefully received.

The Rot

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Friday Fictioneers Madison Woods

image    Madison Woods

In the end, destroying all traces was simple.

Spores introduced at midnight erupted with milky white tendrils and swiftly penetrated the ancient timbers.

By dawn, their sickly flowers swelled to produce bulbous fruit the colour of angry midsummer roses. And in the midday sun, those fruits burst, disgorging a sickly yellow fluid ripe with seed, and rank with the sweat of decay.

This in turn attracted the little things. Those creatures which burrow and bite and chew, thriving on the rot of life.  Nature’s housekeepers.

The first cracks appeared late afternoon.

By dusk, their house was gone.

 

 

I would love critique on any and all stories, so feel free to comment.