Novel writing

One of my goals for 2010 is to write a complete draft of a novel. Its something I have attempted in the past but always seem to burn out part way through. I think its because I put pressure on myself to do it fast like with NaNoWriMo. This time I hope to be able to write a bit each day even if its just a few hundred words. by the time the year is up I should have a full draft.

writing a novel again

Last week I started writing a novel. I have an outline and about 2000 words of the story done so far. Hoping by writing about it here it will push me to complete a full draft.

I'm Me

I am a butterfly,
I am a bee,
I’m a dragon,
I’m me

I’m twisted,
I’m tortured,
I’m trapped yet I’m strong,
I’m me.

I’m a human being,
With thoughts and feelings too,
I cry & laugh just like you,
Because I am me.


(c) Karen Peatt 2009

Not Special

I am not special,
I’m just being me.
Doing the best I can,
The best to be free.
I’m not different,
I’m not unique,
I’m no more important than the next person.
Yet you seem to see me as something special
Something neat,
Something to hold on a pedestal,
As something great.

You think because I face challenges,
But do it with a smile,
That I am better than most,
Yet I am just being me.
Nothing special, yet everything to some,
I am light, yet I am dark,
With many faces, yet I am just,
Another branch on this tree of life.
(C) Karen Peatt 2009

Rambling Thoughts....

I laugh, I cry,
I float and fly,
I fall and scream,
Things aren’t all they seem.

I don’t need anyone to tell me about heaven,
I look around me, and I believe,
I believe in the concrete,
Things I can see,
Yet I feel warm kisses, floating through the air,
When no one is there
And I believe.

Don’t walk away,
I love you too much,
I hate you,
So don’t stay.

Walk away, don’t look back,
Memories are yours too keep,
Whispers dance on the sun
You are free.
(c) Karen Peatt 2009

Spectrum

I am white,
I am black,
I am trapped
Yet I am free.

I am red,
I am blue,
I can be loved
Yet I am hated.

I am purple,
I am green,
I am snake like,
Yet I am a teddy bear.

I am a kaleidoscope of colours,
I am complex, yet simple,
I am like layers on a cake,
Yet I am just I.

(C) Karen Peatt 2009

I Once was…

I once was an angel,
With wings and a bent halo,
I once was an angel,
Who gave strawberry kisses.

I once was a devil, who burned fires bright,
Floating through fire and ice,
I once was a devil,
Who hated the world.

I once was a kid,
With lollipop smiles, hopes and dreams,
I once was a kid, white and free
Why didn’t they love me?

I once was me,
Till a snake wound a dagger through my heart,
I once was me,
Now I sleep forever.
(c)2009 Karen Peatt

Friday Night

I emerge from the darkness,
Into the light,
And go in search of my Mum,
Looks like the fighting’s over,
For another night.

I find her cleaning up his mess,
I help. I can’t go to sleep, unless,
I know everything’s done,
Otherwise tomorrow night will be just like this one.

Sometimes I wonder what I did wrong,
And have done for so long to make,
Daddy hate me so,
I just don’t know.

Will Daddy hit me too,
Sometimes I wonder if he might,
So I live in fear,
Every Friday night.
(c) Karen Peatt 2009

For Kayden

Into the darkness.
I fall from grace,
Like a broken mirror,
A scarred face.

I’m changed forever,
So over you,
Yet I can’t leave you alone,
Never to walk away.

I brake in pieces bit by bit,
The longer we are apart,
But I guess I know I’ll always,
Hold you in my heart.

Though forces hold us apart,
You’ll always be my number one,
Little Gizmo, Monkey Man,
I’ll come to you when I can.

(c) Karen Peatt 2009

angel footprints

Angel footprints.

There’s too much sadness,
Too much pain,
I never know how I’m gunna begin again,
To find a smile somehow.

To walk through the darkness,
Find somewhere safe,
Somewhere to breathe,
If only I could begin to believe.

But I still see their faces,
They haunt my dreams,
Follow me from place to place,
Cos they’re even here now.

They’re faces on the photo are faded,
My face is lined and jaded,
Where once it was young & free,
But that was before the angels footprints left me.
(c) Karen Peatt 2009

The bus stops and the girl climbs on board. The girl doesn’t mind having to stand near the open window. She feels as if she might melt. Children cry as their ice-creams form a sticky puddle on their laps. An old man reads the newspaper. The women on the bus gossip about Bill and Monica. As time passes the other passengers loose interest in their conversations and begin to look around them. They all stare at the girl. Some smile. Some sneer. Others just continue to stare.

The journey continues. Passengers get off the bus. Passengers get on. It doesn’t matter. They all stare. Some even whisper to their friends. Still the girl stands silently. At times the comments get so loud and so rude that the girl wishes she could go and punch the people in the mouth. But she knows she can’t. She must be silent. Invisible. It makes her blood boil faster than lava, but she is helpless.

At the next stop the people that climb on the bus are friendly and start a conversation with the girl.
‘Hot today isn’t it?’
‘Yeah’ says the girl.
It has been too long for this. There are too many forgotten years. The girl just smiles at the people until the bus begins to slow. As the girl gets off the bus she overhears a conversation between two children.
‘That lady standing by the window looked funny’
‘I’m glad we ignored her, she scared me.’
That’s the story of my life thinks the girl as she walks away in her walking frame.

The girl in the story has Cerebral Palsy. Cerebral Palsy is a disorder of muscle control which results from some damage to part of the brain. It can affect people in many different ways, which can be both mental and physical or either mental or physical. For example, in my case my legs and my right arm are affected by the Cerebral Palsy but I am lucky and have not been affected mentally by the Cerebral Palsy. Others are not so lucky. They may be so severely affected by the Cerebral Palsy that they are unable to go to school or care for themselves in any way.

It doesn’t really matter how a person with Cerebral Palsy is affected by the disorder most people are treated by society in much the same way. (Having said this, however I do not mean that all people treat people with Cerebral Palsy this way.) Some people seem to think that a person with any kind of disability has a mental disability. This is a common assumption with Cerebral Palsy because more than half of the world’s Cerebral Palsy sufferers are affected mentally by the disorder.

However there are many organisations (such as Interchange and Yorralla) in Australia that can help sufferers of Cerebral palsy (or any other disability) to gain independence. These organisations can help people with many skills including personal care, shopping, and meal preparation and can also provide personal assistants who can help a disabled person to gain an education. The services these organisations provide are vital to the life of a disabled person because they enable the disabled person to have a “normal” life and attend school or work and also be involved in the community. To be considered “normal” by today’s society means to be accepted by today’s society. Acceptance is what we all crave and these organisation’s help a disabled person to gain some acceptance but there is a long way to go before total acceptance of a disabled person is achieved. This is illustrated by the reaction of the passengers on the bus when they realised the girl standing near the window was disabled. Not many of the passengers on the bus would talk to the girl who was standing by the window in her walking frame. The only people who would talk to the girl came on the bus towards the end of the journey and then had difficulty making conversation with the girl. If the girl was not disabled the passengers on the bus may not have had any trouble making conversation with the girl. The girl also had trouble making conversation with the other passengers on the bus. The fact that the narrator of the story suggests that “it has been too long for this. There are too many forgotten years.” Suggests that like many other disabled people the girl is so used to being treated badly that she does not know how to react when people are nice to her. These kinds of problems can make disabled people feel even more alienated from the rest of the world. The best way to overcome this problem is to educate the ‘normal’ people of the world in order to try and make them understand that disabled people are just people who may take a little longer than a ‘normal’ person to achieve some of their goals. If we can do this then maybe the ‘normal’ people will be more accepting of the disabled and then we can all live in harmony.

I would like to remind all the ‘normal’ people out there that it’s not what’s on the outside that counts but what’s on the inside. So as a final reminder from my pearls of wisdom as some great literary person said ‘don’t judge a book by its cover.’

My creative process

One of my TAFE assignments is to talk about my creative process. I am struggling with it because I don't consciously set out to write most of the stuff I write. It just happens. Many of the poems I have posted on here are born because a line of them will pop into my head and they flow from there...

My only attempt at a novel so far was much like that too, but in that case little Jack Lawson appeared in my dreams and started telling me his story and then bugged me enough until I started writing it down. I am waiting for him to come back and tell me the rest.

Over the last couple of days I have started a new novel. The main character did the appear in my head thing too but this time I am using novel writing software to get down and organise my ideas. I am not sure how it is going to go but I'll keep you all posted if anyone is interested.

Edge II

She falls into the darkness,
Tears pouring down her face,
Broken hearted,
So over life yet still living,

You’ll recognise her as she walks down the street,
She’s the one who has forgotten how to smile,
Forgotten who she once was,
Just needs a hug.

So grimy and dirty,
Lost under many layers,
But one day the sun will break through,
She’ll become stronger,
And come into the light.
(c)Karen Peatt 2009

My Darling Sara

My failing right hand,
Isn’t actually failing,
It’s just another body part,
That gets me to the bar.

It picks up a bottle,
Helps me chug that bottle down,
Til I forget where I’ve gotta go,
Or where I’ve been.

I thought I’d write this poem for you,
To show that I care,
Even though that last night,
You screamed I was never there.

We made love like pasta and sauce,
Messy but so true,
We were meant to be together,
me and you.

You told me faith means more than trying,
Sweat holds more value than tears,
But as you walked away,
You’re voice echoed through my fears.

“Once I believed you were the one,
Oh so strong & true,
Know I know you are weak,
And I’m not the one for you.”

That last fight sent me into a spin,
We shouldn’t fight while I’m driving,
My anger spun us into a tree,
Hurting you not so much me.

So now my darling Sara though
I said I’d never let you go,
I tried so hard but my right hand failed,
And I never felt you leave,
Oh my darling Sara, I love you so.

Together and free

For you’re the one I’ve lost
The only one for me
You’re footprints stamped upon my heart
As you ran away

Like a flutterby with no wings
A piano with no tune
A moon with no stars
I’m lost without you

If you call, I’ll come
Just whisper on the wind
I’m there as fast as I can
Just as soon as your hand beckons

So I wait until I grow old
Saving my heart for you
Knowing one day we’ll be together
Even if only in my dreams

We’ll be the ones
Dancing on the stars
Fly to the moon
Together and free
(C) Karen Peatt 2009

Echoing Footsteps

I have been working on several writing projects over the last few months, two of which are rapidly becoming novels. I thought I'd post the prologue of one just to see if anyone reading the blog likes it and once to read more. If you do I might post a chapter a week or something.

Echoing Footsteps.

Prologue

Footsteps echo in the hallway. A door slams and a car kicks over gently. As the car backs down the driveway I emerge from my hiding place and go to my little sister. Her tears begin to fall just like they always do and just like I have every Friday night for the past few years I take her into my arms and hold her. I tell her that it will be all right and I tell myself this time it has to be. I have to do something to make it ok. Comforted by my words she becomes quiet. I lead her to her room where she lays on her bed and hugs Fred. Fred is her teddy bear and her only other friend.

I go in search of my Mother and find her cleaning the kitchen. The wall has been splattered with a roast I know she has slaved over for hours and there are pieces of the broken plate everywhere. Mother looks up and I see she will have another shiner which will have to be explained away once again. Maybe she had better have tripped over the cat this time, no one could be stupid enough to walk into a door every week. She looks at me and starts to cry. I hold her for a while and whisper words of reassurance. “I’m sorry” is all she says. Rage boils inside me like lava. “Don’t worry. He won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him” I say, before leaving her.

I walk into my room and close the door. My hands shake as I open my bedside cupboard. I no longer shake with fear, just anticipation. The cold metal of the gun empowers me. I am now strong enough and know enough to use it. Dad never should have taught me how to shoot. Next Friday I will be ready for him.
(c) Karen Peatt 2009

Please let me know what you think.

another poem I wrote

She walks a fine line,
Between the edge & normality,
So over life, yet still alive,
Something inside her breaks.

She’s forgotten how to smile,
How to love,
Even how to care,
So broken that parts of her soul aren’t even there.

No one notices cos’ she’s gotten so good,
At pretending all is fine,
That she’s happy inside,
That she fits in society.

Sometimes she wishes,
That somebody cared,
Enough to see all that she really is.

So broken, lost & alone,
A butterfly without wings,
A moon with no stars,
A shell of a life.

(c) Karen Peatt 2009

The edge

The edge

She feels like she’s drowning,
Lost and alone,
With nothing but grief and pain,
Just two steps from the edge.

She’s lost her smile,
In the depth of darkness,
But she’s not sure she cares anymore,
Too broken, in pieces.

Time passes too quickly for her to fully understand,
Exactly where she’s going,
Or where she’s been,
Wondering if she’ll ever learn to smile again?

Knowing that she must,
Be strong, have faith,
That tomorrow will be a better day,
One day she’ll come back from the edge

© Karen Peatt 2009

Lovers poem

Once we were lovers,
Young and free,
Together forever you said,
But then something inside you changed.

You told me that if I were a rose by any other name,
I wouldn’t blubber so much,
Or have such a cold heart.

So I shall use my head and
Try to come up with a formula
To cheat fate.
And avoid death,
It is worth the risk,
All so your name will bleed from my lips.

(C) Karen Peatt 2009

My anzac tribute

The Lucky Land

The soldiers fought and stood tall,
So we could live in freedom,
In the lucky land.

They fought, brave, strong & true,
For me and for you,
Living in safety,
In the lucky land.

They should have returned heroes,
Instead treated like criminals,
Second class citizens,
In the lucky land.

So they turned to drugs,
And drank down their dreams,
Lost souls all alone,
In the lucky land.

I for one think this is wrong,
So I’m gunna stand tall
And fight for their rights
In the lucky land

Anzac Poem

When the war began they were at home working the lands,
But when the call came they were the first to raise their hands.
To fight for their country.
To stand tall,
To try & win the war.

Then one day,
As battle lines when drawn,
A gun rang out in the night
And a boy lost his life.

Many years later,
Many lives lost
We stand to remember,
How they fought for us

Fought for our freedom
Fought for our lives
Fought for our country
Fought so we can stand with pride

They gave their lives so we could live
Yet we act like its nothing to give
Fighting amongst friends
Like mateship means nothing
They mean nothing

Yet they are/were something to someone
A son, a father, a brother, a friend,
As I stand here today my pride knows no end
For lest we forget


(c) Karen Peatt 2009