She watched the young couple walk through the woods. She could feel their new love tingle in the air like static, fresh and exciting. She followed them, unseen, unheard, as always. Finally, they stopped.
“This is the place.” He stepped back and swept his arms widely to indicate the trees in the forest.
“What?” she asked, confused.
“This is where I shall build our future home. The builders start tomorrow.”
The wood nymph felt her fury rise, and when the lightning struck the woodland, she felt only sorrow for the plants and trees, but she would heal those later.
For the visually challenged reader, this image shows the scene of a forest. One can see a couple walking in the distance through the hazy fog.
Ally stood in the workshop and stared at the racks of tools and equipment. She’d managed to pack the bedroom, even when she cuddled into his beloved checked shirts. She’d sorted the kitchen cupboard, even when she came across his favourite mug. Even the bathroom, when she’d caught the scent of his favourite aftershave. But the workshop was different. It was truly his space. She let the tears flow freely as she lifted the first cardboard box. The workshop was the chink in her armour and once the hole was established, her grief poured endlessly. God, she missed him.
Week 1 – Tuesday: The always give me the dirty jobs, the sucky jobs, the ones I’m never going to develop, I’m never going to shine! They are undervaluing me and everything I do. Apprenticeship, they say, like they’re doing me some big favour, apprenticed to these old goons that don’t know their apples from their oranges.
They tried the traditional jokes, we need tartan paint, haha, yeah everyone laughed, but I got it right away, knew they were trying to mess with me. Jokes on them, I took an extra long lunch break to get the “tartan paint” got myself a nice coffee, browsed my phone, got my nails done it was great.
Week 1 – Friday: The twats tried it again with a long stand – seriously, I’m sure these jokes were around with the dinosaurs, so I took a long stand, in the shopping queue, got myself some great new clothes, I’m so ready for this weekend. I wonder what time they let people leave on a Friday? My friend Georgie has got half day finish on a Friday, lucky sod. IF they think I’m working to five they can do one.
Week 2 – Monday – Thank god! One week left. I showed up today in all my new nails and new gear, looking proper smart, ready to be wheeled out in front of the customers, well that’s why I applied here for my work experience. Do you know what those b*ggers had me doing? Emptying their blasted bins, and moving boxes around the stock room. Covered in dust head to toe.
Week 2 – Wednesday – I walked in late today and no-one really noticed. I spoke to the girl on reception (she seems nice enough but a bit mousy) and she said she thought that was me finisihed up! Hah! I wish. I wonder if that means if I took Thursday and Friday off no-one would notice. Probably a bad idea, I need to get that completion certificate and Keira said last year after her work experience they had a whip round and gave her fifty quid! And that was just for waitressing in a cafe. Imagine what I’d get at a place like this!
Week 2 – Friday – Well thank god thats over. I got no fairwell, no pat on the back, no cash, just a piddly handshake from the CEO who I’d only seen once.
Work Experience Report for C Mitchell
C Mitchell has problems with authority and a poor work ethic. They failed to establish any working relationships with the team and at best could be described as idle.
Parents Signature…. Students Signature….
Week 3 – Monday – Bollocks!!! My mum’s going to kill me.
I actually really enjoyed my work experience (I worked at a local cafe, got to keep my tips and even got offered a Saturday job at the end of it) but I saw this quote and couldn’t resist.
‘A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.’
– James N. Watkins
As a writer and an author-in-progress, I adore this quote. I started writing my first novel years ago, having first read a historical account in a newspaper in 2013. The story mulled itself over and over in my head, then persistence gave way and I decided to read more into it. The characters began to speak to me, both the original storyline and a modern storyline which corresponded. I put my fingers to the keyboard and let the click-clacking begin. I had many stops and starts, I got married, attended Uni, and had a baby but still, I am drawn back to the story, which is in the final throws now. I have completed the modern storyline and have a handful of chapters of the historic storyline to go and then “Hallelujah!” my first draft will be complete.
I already have a second story outlined and a third and fourth gnawing away at me (I’ve collated some notes to try to keep them at bay for now). The hardest part, putting my bum in the seat and just writing without distraction, but I’ll get there. Like the river, I’ll ebb away at that rock and hopefully someday, I’ll make it.
Love and best wishes to all those rivers trying to cut their way through the rock. You’ll get there.
Jess felt like she had been holding her breath for an age. Her breath, her tummy, her neck elongated. Every part of her body felt burning hot and screaming at her to move.
But she needed the money. This was easy money, she told herself. Sit still for a couple of hours in an awkward pose. Just breathe. The artist had told her to breathe in deeply and then breathe out slowly. But I can hardly breathe, she thought. Perhaps it was the hot air. There seemed to be so little air movement in the room.
“John…” she said, her voice quivering. She hated to interrupt him.
The thud that followed seemed to echo around the room. Pushing his canvas to one side, John rushed over.
“Jess! Oh god.” He took his phone from his back pocket and began to tap in the numbers for an ambulance but the bleeping seemed to cause her to stir.
“Jess, are you okay?” He gathered some cushions and slid one carefully under her head.
“I’m fine, maybe just a bit of water?”
“Of course.” Within seconds, John had been across the room to the sink and retrieved what happened.
“I’m so sorry, John.” Her cheeks flushed. “I remember feeling hot and then, I’m not sure”
“No worries at all, Jess. Do you feel well enough to pose again or do you want to go home for the day?”
The thought of all the bills mounting up flashed through Jess’s eyes.
“No, no. I’ll finish” But as she got to her feet, she wobbled again slightly.
“Listen, Jess. Why don’t you lie back on that couch?”
“No, no. You need to finish your sketch.”
“I do, but Jess, you are so beautiful, I can draw you in any position. Why don’t you lie down for a while and we can pick up the other one another day. Perhaps a day which isn’t so warm?”
She smiled. Gratitude filled her flushed face.
“Thanks John.” John nodded and after a few alterations, he was soon busy behind his easel again.
Knowing she could make her bill payments, Jess finally relaxed. As John looked in her direction, his heart fluttered, he thought she had never looked so beautiful.
Many, many moons ago. Whilst I was a student, I modelled for several life drawing classes. I am curvy, pale, with wild red hair, not the person you would usually typecast to be a life model I am sure. To begin with, I was so nervous, but the class teacher was so lovely, the artists were all so kind, often showing me their works after, that despite the fact I was doing it for the money, I learned quite a lot about body confidence. Before long I was calm and natural (I hope!) and actually enjoyed the experience.
In my family, my gran is the best cook. I am… well…in my mind, adequate. I quite like to cook but I don’t follow recipes to the letter, and I will swap out objects for what I have available, sometimes that works very effectively other times, it can be a bit of a disaster. My husband is the opposite, he stubbornly follows recipes to the letter. Normally I am juggling, cooking, cleaning, shopping, work, childcare, etc, so I am happy to make do with what is at hand.