Kiddy Craft | writermummy

Craft started with book making at 7,30am…

It’s been a crafty sort of day. It started with sticking and glitter at 7,30am as the kids added photographs to their books. Then Daddy took them to Cambridge and on to Granddad’s for the afternoon so I was able to ‘glam up’ a bit and take some head-shot photographs to save me the cost of a photographer.

My remote switch and tripod are both broken so I had to make do with my mini tripod, a box and the ten-second timer. I’m rather red-cheeked in some of the pictures because it got a bit hot hopping down from a chair for each of the eighty or so shots I took.

It was fun doing photography again. I don’t get to use my big camera often as I’m either worried about it being broken again or it’s too bulky and obvious. The kids aren’t always happy to have their pictures taken and you can’t sneak up with a DSLR! I was rather chuffed with the results given the circumstances of my imprompt photoshoot. Well, until I shared the pictures with my friends…

Debate on Facebook has left me determined to leave photography to the professionals!

I need a new head-shot for the About.me page that shows on this blog, a new one for LinkedIn, and one to send to the Nene Valley Magazine to go with my article. I found it tough choosing because I am both model and photographer and I also prefer more formal pics of myself. So (foolishly it turns out) I decided to put what I thought were the best twelve on Facebook for my nearest and dearest to comment on.

Apparently in most of the shots I look either regal (!), superior (?) or just plain mean. In one or two I look like I’m shooting people with my laser eyes. Actually I can see that: I had to focus on where the lens was to make sure I was in shot and sometimes I focussed a bit hard. It does seem I might have to succumb and hire a professional portrait photographer as I clearly haven’t captured ‘me’ or taken a shot that is sufficiently warm and welcoming to help me build my social media platform.

Still, it was interesting to photograph something other than the children, even if it had to be me (I don’t like being in front of the camera much either. The ‘regal’ or ‘death stare’ looks are really discomfort.).

…and ended with craft at 5pm

I’ve also had fun playing with the final images with our new copy of Adobe Photoshop, purchased for book cover design but useful for many things.

When I first left my job as a marketing manager to follow more creative pursuits I took a course in digital photography that concentrated on the amazing things that can be done with Adobe. It was the best career decision I ever made as it has come in useful for a multitude of things, from designing logos and book covers to winning photography competitions and making montages for friends. Unfortunately it can’t turn a meanie into a smiley person but you can’t have everything! 🙂

The day ended on a nice note with a lovely craft session with the kids, making sheep and lentil pictures and caterpillars followed by some colouring with Daddy at bedtime. If I’ve learned anything today it’s to never put something out in the world that I’m not ready to have criticised. I hope I get less upset by my first awful book review than I did by the comments from my friends on Facebook!

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Clare woke to the sound of drums. The thudding noise filled every inch of space in the room around her. It was a few seconds before she associated the rapid rhythm with her own heartbeat. Slowly her senses fought the sound of the drumming. Her ears noted other noises: the rattle of water in old pipes, the swell of birdsong coming through the single-glass window. The pervasive odour of the room crept in her nostrils and reminded her of her location. Sticky eyes unglued and took in the dim glow of dawn seeping through the curtains. And still the drums pounded.

What the hell?

Claire tried to think what had forced her awake. The clatter of the pipes was loud but her earplugs were still half-in and she had become better at ignoring random noises in the night. The dawn light wasn’t bright enough to have dragged her out of sleep. Gradually the bass drum steadied into a regular beat and Claire was able to concentrate on her breathing.

She tried to recall her dreams, assuming they must have caused the thumping heartbeat and clammy sweat that she could feel freezing on her forehead in the chilly room. She grabbed at the images in her mind but they slipped away as if she had tried to catch a reflection and found only water. And still the sensations persisted. She wanted to crawl out of herself, to shed an itchy and hated skin.

The feeling of disquiet lingered like the bad smell still permeating the room. Claire plumped her pillow and fidgeted in the bed, trying to return to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes indefinable images swam in the dark and forced the lids open again.

What is going on? I didn’t have cheese for dinner. In fact I didn’t have dinner. No alcohol, no coffee. No reason for bad dreams.

Admitting defeat Claire rolled on her back and gazed at the underside of the top bunk, forcing herself to dredge the scattered emotions of her dream for meaning. She was conscious of fear and panic, as if she’d lost her phone or was late for a business meeting. No, worse than that. As if she’d lost her job.

Well, haven’t I?

Claire explored the thought to see if it was the cause of her unease. I haven’t lost my job, but maybe it is time to start looking for a new one, just in case. She rolled over onto her side, hoping the decision would calm her agitated brain and let her sleep. Still the jittering in her stomach continued. A bubbling sensation somewhere behind her belly button nagged at her. It felt like a scream building; a scream that would consume her if she let it free.

That’s enough now body. Get a grip. You are Claire Carleton, Melanie and Gerald’s daughter, Robert and Ruth’s sister. You don’t have nightmares or flights of fancy, they’re not allowed.

A word snagged at her mind as she gave herself a talking-to. Ruth. Suddenly a flood of images washed over her eyes. Ruth going to hospital, Ruth strapped to a white bed, Ruth watching terrified as a giant needle came towards her, her eyes wide and wild as she saw it approach.

Claire jerked upright, crashed her head against the top bunk and collapsed back to the mattress with a groan, tears stabbing her eyes.

My little sister. I’ve been such a cow. All I was concerned with was what she said about Michael, about how she envied me my perfect life. I should have been worried about her, facing this all alone, having to care for Sky and having no one care for her.

She rolled over and fumbled on the floor for her phone. 5.38am. It was too early to call. Claire tapped at the screen and wrote a text message, hoping it wouldn’t wake her sister but needing to connect.

Hey sis. Hope everything goes okay today. Text or call to let me know you’re alright. Thinking of you.

Claire looked at the screen and felt the thudding resume in her chest. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. She tapped at the screen again and typed out two more words before hitting send.

Love you.

***

Are You Doing a 365 Photo Project? (apartmenttherapy.com)
Let’s Try A 365 Project? (abeautifulmess.com)
52 Week – Monthly Technique – Photography Challenge 2013 (chloellaphotography.com)
365 Self Portrait Challenge: Day Three Hundred Sixty Six: (nurtureself365.com)

Making Pancakes for Shrove Tuesday

Pancake Day! (Well it is while I’m writing this anyway.) We love pancakes in this house although we tend to cook them thicker than is the norm for Shrove Tuesday here in the UK.

Husband went to my mother’s today to job search in peace and was summoned home on the promise of pancakes at 5pm. He is addicted! I often use them to get him out of bed on a Sunday so we can go swimming.

We also made bird feeders at the Farm today: the sticky sort made with lard, bird seed and a yoghurt pot. I’ve never done it before, although the kids have made them at nursery. It’s a neat little craft activity that I might store for another day. Messy though!

My head has been buzzing with Claire ideas although none are right for the next post so I’m still stumped for this evening. It’s nice to have some ideas getting through; I must be coming out the otherside of this cold finally. Shame the little one still has a sky-high temperature. Another trip to the docs is in order methinks.

© Copyright Gordon McKinlay and licensed for reuse under Creative Commons Licence

A quick note on research, as I know today’s post won’t reflect the hours I’ve spent on it. I feel I have travelled further than Claire: first looking at cities she might drive to from Keswick. Then thinking she might stay in the Lakes another night because she doesn’t like to drive in the dark. Then needing her in a private en-suite room so searching all hostels in the Lakes with en-suite and availability on 12th March (the date she has reached in the novel).

Then I wanted her looking at the nighttime view and so wondered if it was full moon or not (turns out it’s a new moon on 12th March). Then doing a Google-map search to find out what might have triggered her decision to stay at Windemere (for example was it en-route somewhere else? Yes, it’s on the road to Liverpool.)

This is the way my mind works when I’m researching and writing at the same time. It’s why I try not to do research during a first draft – it eats hours. Never mind, I’ve just about got enough energy to tap out a few hundred words even if it has little to do with the 3-hour internet search this evening has entailed! On a positive note, the more I research hostels the more I want to take my family to them. If only the Lakes were a bit nearer. I can certainly feel a summer road trip coming on!

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Claire let the heat of the shower wash away niggling doubt, concentrating on the sensation caused by warm water caressing her tired muscles.

I’d give my limited edition Radley bag for a bath. Or one of the smaller purses anyway. She lathered her hair, grateful for the knowledge that Josh couldn’t have left anything scary and hairy in the cubicle. It had been luxurious checking in without him, closing the bedroom door and knowing she was completely alone.

I wonder what he’s doing, whether he’s found a new chick to hit on, to sweet-talk into a lift. She flushed when she remembered the night they had first met. It was only a week ago but it felt like months. Thinking about it she realised he hadn’t repeated his attempt to kiss her after he had taken her by surprise at the Observatory. Maybe he didn’t fancy me once he got to know me better. It was a lowering thought.

Claire rinsed the shampoo from her hair and detangled it with copious amounts of conditioner, combing it through with her fingers. She resisted the urge to hum ‘I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair’ with the thought that she couldn’t say for certain which one.

Clean, refreshed, and wrapped in a towel, Claire stood gazing out her window at the panoramic view just visible by the meagre light of the petrol-blue sky. The storm clouds that had battered them with hail on Skiddaw had long since blown away.

What am I doing here? I could be looking out over city lights, contemplating a three-course meal in a decent restaurant and breakfast at Starbucks. Instead I’m still in the Lakes. Windermere of all places. How touristy can you get? Although we’re not exactly in Windermere. Gazing at the view Claire was surprised at how few lights she could see. Why are all the YHA hostels so damn remote?

Her mind replayed the meandering drive up from town and she was glad, not for the first time, that she wasn’t trying to backpack without a car. Stella might be a heap of junk but she gives untold freedom. No wonder Josh stuck with me whether he fancied me or not.

She felt a stab of guilt, thinking about Josh. When she had left him after the Skiddaw hike that afternoon it was on the understanding that she was heading for a more high-rise than hill-side location. Certainly that had been her intention.

A wave of lassitude had engulfed her only twenty minutes into her three-hour drive to Liverpool. She’d seen the signs for Windermere and began following them almost without volition. Lucky they had a free room, especially a private one. I think I need some space to think.

She pulled on her most comfortable clothes and curled up on the double-bed bottom bunk, resisting the temptation to lie spread-eagled across it just because she could. Her mind flashed an image of the hostel lounge; the welcoming sofas, the view. The licensed bar. Her tummy growled and she realised she would have to venture downstairs eventually. And still something held her back.

Claire rapped her knuckles against her temples and tutted, the sound loud in the silent room. What’s going on in there, brain? Since when was the lure of Starbucks not enough?