The Mystical Wombat's Guide to Life - excerpt 2

McBee screeched to a halt in the middle lane of the busy G46 – the majestic seven-lane thoroughfare snaking out of the city - sending cars spiralling off in all directions to avoid him. He sat, motionless, a white-hot anger searing through his veins, oblivious to the blaring horns and curses of the approaching drivers.
I have been cut up by a woman with furry dice, he repeated, a manic mantra under his breath as blood pumped wildly at his temples. All the many years of feeling undervalued, the relentless daily grind of his existence and the building sense of disappointment in a life that had once promised so much yet never delivered, suddenly descended as one huge, crushing weight on McBee’s weary frame.
Stunned by its claustrophobic severity, he struggled to catch his breath, grasping frantically at the driver’s side door. Finally locating the small silver handle, he pulled at it with all his might – which took considerable strength, as every movement now appeared to require a gargantuan effort to perform. The car door swung open and McBee grabbed his suitcase from the passenger seat, bolting from the stranded car with all the speed he could muster.
Maybe it was the utter idiocy of the situation; maybe it was the result of too many emotions swept under the carpet for too long – we shall never know. Even McBee himself, in later years, couldn’t exactly explain what it was that made this particular offence so different from all the others he’d encountered in his life.
Whatever the reason, the fact is that this event was officially The Last Straw for McBee - and came to be known as such.
As McBee fled across the lanes of skidding, swerving and colliding vehicles - that were fast becoming steaming, screaming dog-piles of metal and skin, blood and bone - all he could focus on through the brooding purple-grey haze bubbling across his vision was the wall at the edge of the carriageway – and the streak of dark silver water, hundreds of feet below the road, stretching out towards the grey horizon.
Unable to think any longer, he moved towards the wall as if propelled by an overpowering, unearthly force. Beset by the pounding of his heart in his ears, combining with the growing sounds of confusion, fear and pain behind him and the taste of burning rubber and flesh catching at the back of his throat, McBee’s mounting, terrifying panic pushed him – quite literally – over the edge.

© Miranda Dickinson 2007

Is this the end for McBee? Find out in the next exciting episode...!

The Mystical Wombat's Guide to Life - excerpt 1

Chapter One:
‘To Fall At The Beginning Is To Start Again’
Book of Wom, saying 101

It begins with McBee. Or rather, it begins with what happened to him.

They say that the last straw is often the most insignificant thing; in McBee’s case this was most definitely true. The over-fed, arrogant lady driving her small pink automobile, with its ridiculous orange furry dice bobbling about in the windscreen, would probably be very surprised to learn that she was responsible for triggering the most catastrophic, cataclysmic day of someone’s life.

But she was. Or, more precisely, her furry dice were.

For posterity shall record that, a little after 3.15pm on a grey, drizzly Thursday afternoon somewhere in mid-October - shortly after nearly running McBee off the road with an ill-judged overtaking manoeuvre - the sight of this lady’s victoriously swinging fluffy window adornments, now in front, tipped him over the edge. And McBee, to coin a phrase, Finally Lost The Plot.

At any other time, he may have laughed at the scenario; but, as it was, this one, seemingly insignificant happening was the final element in a long, long chain of events – and McBee’s life changed irrevocably from that point on.

It seems ironic that a man who, for twenty-five years, had successfully carved a career out of lambasting the human race’s aptitude for pettiness, should be ultimately unhinged by two preposterously naff cubes hanging from a rear view mirror. But this is how it was.

© Miranda Dickinson 2007

What happens to McBee? Find out tomorrow!

I must be MAD!

I'm writing a novel in a month...

It's all part of National Novel Writing Month - visit www.nanowrimo.org to see what it's all about. the idea is that between 1st and 30th November, you write a 50,000 word novel. That's it - just commit to writing 50,000 words down and see what happens! The prize is proving to yourself that you can really do it - and maybe even produce a half-decent read in the process... So, I thought, why not?



You can visit my profile by pasting the following into your web browser: http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/user/218703 and you can also see how many words I've written!

Starting from tomorrow, I'm going to be posting excerpts from my novel The Mystical Wombat's Guide To Life here at Coffee and Roses , so you can have a read and let me know what you think!

It's been less than a week and already I've passed the 11,000 word mark! What's really good about this whole crazy idea is that you don't spend hours editing (which, I confess, is an occupational hazard for me) - you just write, and write, and write until it's done. And, surprisingly, I like what's appearing as I scribble... It's very different to anything I've written before, but I'm actually loving what my demented mind is conjouring up.

Anyway, enough of the wittering, I have a novel to write! :o)

Random Poetry Corner

Enjoy!



Ode to the Traffic Cone (aka Colin)

Today, I woke up feeling blue
And stayed that way till nearly 2
When suddenly, outside my home
Appeared a little plastic cone
Called Colin

Don't ask me how I knew his name
Nor seek from whence my new friend came
For all I know is: he is here
And my sad thoughts have disappeared
Thanks, Colin!

Colin, I care not if you
Once lived on the M42
And, with your brothers, caused me pain
When roadworks made me late again
No, Colin -

For all that matters now is you;
O plastic friend of cheery hue,
My loneliness brought to an end
By my bright, happy orange friend:
My Colin!
© Miranda Dickinson 2007
_________________________________________

Remember, kids: A cone is for life; not just for Wednesdays...

Procrastination and the art of being a complete Wuss...

OK. Here's a conundrum for you...

When you've been waiting for ages for something to happen, then something actually does, why is it that you suddenly become reticent about going for it?!

It's something that's bugged me this week. I've experienced it before, but still it never ceases to stump me. I seem to wait for ages, desperately longing, hoping and praying for something to happen - and then, just when light begins to appear at the end of the tunnel, my nerve goes.

So, it's time to stand up and admit the awful truth:

...takes a deep breath...

My name is Miranda and I am a Wuss.

The support group, who are gathered around me, smile supportively and applaud my confession. "It's the first step," my Counsellor assures me, "Well done, honey."

I feel better for that. I do, really.

So, how to move on?

I always manage to overcome the Wuss-urge (that looks wrong, sorry) in the end, but for a few days there I struggle with the temptation to walk quietly away from the sparkly new opportunity before me, whistling nonchalantly, before fleeing back to the safe confines of my duvet... (Aha! The Killer Duvets strike again! It's a worldwide conspiracy!)

Editor's Note: For those readers now completely confused and seriously questioning the sanity of this blogger, please see the previous post on Comfy Duvets of Doooom (August 7th, 2007) for details of the Duvet Conspiracy Theory. Thank you.

I think the simple answer is this: Just get on with it, silly! No amount of hiding or being scared is going to move me any further forward. I have asked for this opportunity, now this is where the hard work begins. You don't just become the person in your dreams; it takes hard work and commitment.

Too often, I waste time dreaming about how great life will be when I arrive at my dream - all the hard work done, all the obstacles overcome, all the pressure off. Somehow, I never find myself daydreaming about late nights working or setbacks! Dreams are what you make them - they are a reward for working really hard, not a luxury free gift with minimum effort. And even if you could obtain your heart's desires as easily as going to the shops, would they really mean anything? The things I am most proud of in my life - the things I count as my successes and that give me the most joy - are the things I have had to work hardest to achieve, taking the biggest risks over and investing the most time in. I have to remind myself of this every time I feel like retreating under the duvet till it all goes away.

Right now, I have an opportunity which could be a real breakthrough. It scares the living jellybeans out of me and right now I'd like to walk away whistling... But if I don't grab it, taking the risk of it being another dead end, I'll never know, will I?

Right, better get busy then...

Lake District pics - part one

As promised, here are a few of the stunning photos that the lovely Bob took on our holiday in the Lake District.


We climbed up Silver How (at the back of our cottage), early one morning, through thick fog. When we were nearly at the top, we emerged out of the clouds to see this amazing sight...



It really was breathtaking, watching the clouds rolling like waves into the valley as the sun came up.


On the footpath by Aira Force, near Ullswater, I turned back and saw this view - I quickly grabbed Bob and told him to take a photo. He now calls me his Location Manager !


















And here's the photographer himself (I took this one - arty, I know!)

The hills (well, the mountains) are alive...

...with the sound of me!!

I've just got back from a totally fantastic holiday in the gorgeous Lake District (so apologies for the small delay in optimistic scribbling!)

If you've never been, you have to go... Not only is it the place that inspired Wordsworth, Ruskin, Beatrix Potter and Arthur Ransome to write (amongst others), but it also boasts some of the most breathtakingly stunning scenery anywhere in the world.

The Lake District (or Cumbria, to give it its county name), is absolutely the best place for a weary optimist to recharge... You can't fail to be inspired with so much magestic beauty all around you (and I'm not just talking about Bob...)

We stayed in the Langdale Valley, in the tiny village of Chapel Stile (near Elterwater) - an excellent base for a holiday with loads of wonderful places nearby.

What you need to know about my family and the Lakes is that, for every year of my childhood, we headed here for our family holiday. And it usually rained. Constantly! Despite that, we always managed to have truly magical weeks there - and we still revisit many of our childhood holiday haunts. This holiday was no different - except that we had brilliant weather :o)

I went with my parents, sister and brother-in-law - and the lovely Bob came with us, too! (Our first holiday together - another milestone!) As it was Bob's first visit to Cumbria, my Dad was in his element - so the childhood haunts were even more on the agenda than usual.

We visited the pretty little village of Hawkshead and had great cake from The Minstrels Gallery tearoom (which has gone uber-upmarket since I was little - Orange Pekoe Tea now, fnar, fnar...) I have to say, however, that this tearoom won the prize for most over-the-top presentation of an afternoon tea - a silver cake stand with three plates: scone on one, tiny butter pat and cream sample on next and miniscule jam portion on top... Talk about over-presentation...

On every Dickinson Family holiday, a trip on the big boats on Windermere is a must - but you have to pick the coldest, windiest day of your week to travel and you have - repeat, have - to sit on the open top deck, huddled up against the elements. No sitting in the comfy, warm coffee deck, oh no. Warmth is for wimps... So, true to form, we picked the coldest, dullest day and sat, like true Brits, snuggled up watching the seagulls battling against the cross-winds and trying to eat fudge with frozen lips! We travelled from Ambleside to Bowness on the 'Tern' and the return journey on the 'Swan' (my favourite one, so I was mightily chuffed.)

We also visited Wastwater (recently voted 'Britain's Favourite View' in an ITV1 survey - hence the crowds there). It's the deepest lake in England and overlooked by Scafell Pike, England's tallest mountain, so the views are amazing, with the scree slopes from the mountains falling right into the lake.

Grasmere was as pretty a town as ever - and as full of rude, arrogant Brits as usual, as a lot of the posh hotels are nearby (one particularly pampered pooch decided to wee up Bob's leg and its owner didn't even seem concerned!)

We climbed up by Aira Force near Ullswater and Stock Ghyll Falls behind Ambleside - both beautiful river walks with impressive waterfalls.

We also visited Tarn Hows (amazing man-made lake high in the hills), Coniston (pretty little market town on the shores of the lake where Donald Campbell's water speed record was set) and tackled the edge-of-your-seat-thrilling rides over the Hard Knott and Wrynose passes (just don't look down..)

Our favourite cafe was a stone's throw from our cottage in Chapel Stile - Brambles Cafe (above the Co-op) was absolutely the best place for breakfast... and the cakes looked amazing, too. The staff were so friendly and the views stunning - if you get a chance to visit, you have to check it out!

I'll post some photos next time... Until then, if I've whetted your appetite, check out the places I visited on the Lake Distict website at:

www.LoveTheLakes.co.uk

and have a look at Brambles Cafe by clicking this link or pasting it into your browser:

http://www.golakes.co.uk/lang-dms/thedms.asp?dms=13¶m1=taste¶m2=C24¶m3=ja¶m4=ja&venue=5027858

Only trouble is, I want to be back there right now...