Dream a little dream . . .

Dear readers,

Today I woke up at 5am which is a little too early for me usually but I couldn't sleep. Lately, I've been having the strangest dreams . . . they don't sound like dreams when I think of it. More like a series of pictures like in a cartoon book being flicked through. 

So I woke up at that ungodly hour and looked around in the dark and just couldn't get back to sleep.

I watched a little Frasier because there's nothing quite like watching psychiatrists struggle with their lives when you feel like a bemused excuse for a person!

And then those pictures I had dreamt of, they made sense.

You see, I've been stuck for so long on the prologue of my WIP that I was getting despondent just trying to continue with the rest of my work.

BUT those pictures were my prologue.

Thank Heavens!

I want to say dreams come true . . .

Have your dreams ever made you that happy before?

Yours,

Afsaneh

So I caught a break . . .

Dear Readers,

Yesterday was a tough day for a lot of reasons. For some days I've been feeling a little brain-dead which, as you can understand, does nothing to elevate one's self confidence.

But yesterday, (although I suppose technically it would be today) a couple of thoughts struck me regarding my current WIP.

So, from about 2am onwards I was sat in front of my laptop and finally able to see what my heroine needed to do.

 Nothing quite like a few hours of furious tapping of a keyboard to make that night's (morning's) sleep a little sweeter!

I have to say though . . .  it took her long enough!

And now, I'm in a rather gleeful mood for the first time in quite a while.

Are many people out there going through the same thing, I wonder?

Yours,

Afsaneh

Let me tell you . . .

Dear readers,

(Or perhaps reader - I don't know how many people will be perusing my blog, after all)

I've never had a blog before and I'm not even sure how to start one but I have and I think that'll help me connect with people.

You can never have too many friends, right?

So let me just introduce myself briefly in a few bullet points;

• My name's Afsaneh
• I have what people describe as a 'weird sense of humour'
• My literary idol is Jane Austen
• I'm slightly obsessive with any task at hand
• Few things are as thrilling to me as writing something that feels perfect

 I'm currently trying my absolute hardest on the redraft of a regency novel.

I wish I knew how long this sort of thing should normally take but it differs for everyone, I would think.

Anyway, I'm sure there are a lot of people in the same spot as I, sitting in front of a laptop or a notebook trying so desperately to force out . . . or maybe force isn't the right word. . . well trying to create the next chapter of their novel.

If so, do drop me a comment!

Maybe I'll find my sanity returning. Maybe you will.

Yours,

Afsaneh

God Bless You, John

This is my entry for the -  

Once Upon a Time Writing Contest

“I cannot court you any longer . . . I find that I’m not attracted to women.”

That had been what John had said to her.

John, the gentleman who had been courting her.

And wasn’t that good for her reputation? That she had no prospects and she’d converted one of the most eligible gentlemen in London.

Iris forced out a sudden breath and lost her footing on the soil. Then she fell backwards, not a speck of her remaining dry in the icy pond her dress floated on.

Probably looked like a soggy cream puff now. An angry one, after screaming into her bonnet like a lunatic before forcing herself out of the numbing water.

“Afternoon, Miss Smith,” came an amused voice. “Enjoyed your swim?”

Reluctantly, Iris looked up at the jet black hair and granite eyes that were the irresistible Michael Connolly. Newly arrived from Bath and already to blame for a few hundred broken hearts, Iris couldn’t say she was immune to his charms.

 “Please go away.”

But she was not in the mood.

“Just met John?”

Her eyebrows rose in question and a rueful expression touched his face. “I know what happened.”

 “Then please leave.”

“It wasn’t my fault. I thought he was just friendly,” he shrugged.

“What are you talking about?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Christ! He didn’t tell you what he told me.”

“What?”

Michael’s face flushed crimson. “He said he loves me. John.”

“Of course,” she muttered.

 “You’re angry at me?” he said in disbelief.

 “It isn’t enough that every woman in the ton is in love with you? Now the only man who has ever taken an interest in me?” she yelled.

Silence struck his whole person then one step and their faces were almost touching.

“Not the only man,” he breathed, as he tilted her head up and captured her lips in a kiss that stole her anger. She leaned into his masculine warmth and sandalwood scent, then he wrapped his arms around her soaking frame and finally shook with laughter as he said, “God bless you, John.”

Words: 350

Alive

Inspired by a dream 

This was inspired by a dream I had in which I was a middle-aged love lorn man. I felt none of the emotions that are penned down here so that is mere speculation. Still, I like to think they're close to accurate.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Concentric circles spread over the silver mirrored surface of the water in fragmented segments as the rod fell into the lake. The entire surface rippled like a carpet being thrown out on a newly polished floor.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the brand new rod he had just dropped. Instead, he managed to drag himself to his feet, ignoring the stiff aching in his knees as he took a clumsy step forward, almost stumbling in the process.

Towards her, if she really stood there. He didn’t think he could trust his eyes anymore, their precision was diminished and unreliable now. He felt aged by decades since he had last seen her.

He swallowed the hard lump that had gathered in his throat, urging himself to take another breath, deeper this time.

Her dainty figure was loosely wrapped in a summer dress; it looked familiar, he thought, furrowing his brows in concentration for a moment.

He could tell just from the delicately tied satin strap it was light red, studded with flowers of white and purple, a modest neckline, just past knee-length.

He smiled; modest was the word for her. Among others, he thought silently.

He could see just peeks of her dusty green eyes behind the sienna hair. What he could see was just as beautiful as before, if not more. This was if her absence had not marred and biased his vision beyond repair.

But she hadn’t been quite so thin before, if he remembered correctly. And he did, because her curves were significantly altered and he could see her collarbone with ease which was definitely not visible before.

He took another step towards her unknowingly, all the while wondering what exactly his mind would fear the most if he closed the distance between them. If there was but a scant distance between their faces and he could tuck her hair behind her ears. Would the depths of her eyes beckon for more than just the rough touch of his hand or would her hesitation be vehement and tug at her till she pulled herself away? But perhaps he could but whisper a few loving words in her ear as he fixed her hair, would she allow such little, he wondered dubiously.

He knew not what to expect from her anymore. He feared he may not even know her anymore. That she would disappear at the mere close proximity he wished to experience once more, like a nymph. A lovely yet shy myth.

He couldn’t fully see her face while her hair was blown erratically in every direction and strands moving with livid motion. Even the elements would not grant him permission to see her.

How cruel was fate, this world and all, that even in his wildest dreams he could not be satisfied with just a look?

And just as the moonlight shone on her wholly it revealed her face ashen pale and eyes widowed of animation. It revealed but another woman come to call him away.

Could he but explain the despondency his heart was cast into perhaps all would know the shadow his heart was forced to live under, just how cold it was in that permanent shade.

Instead, he followed silently while his heart yearned for she who his heart had just for that diminutive moment come alive for.