Wordsmithing: But then there's the reading. I always get to the bitter end

Sunday, 11 October 2009

But then there's the reading. I always get to the bitter end - eventually

Finished the biography of Emma: The Twice Crowned Queen - sooooo, wishing she'd been amongst the Danes culled.

It was very like reading Sir Frank Stenton's Anglo Saxon England - which I have (the only person on my A-level course to bother) - only with a much narrower field of vision. It had the same tone, too.

Emma would make an excellent character to write a novel about; it appears that someone else thought so too: a speedy Amazon confirmed. That would be a book to track down. Or, maybe not - the book I found doesn't begin at the beginning of Emma's life nor end at the end - umm - that wouldn't be at all ....

Emma would never have won the Mother of the Age or, indeed, the Wife of the Late Anglo Saxon Era, but she sure learned to bend with the winds of mis-fortune.

2 comments:

Jemi Fraser12 October 2009 at 02:18
I must confess I know nothing about Emma. I'm afraid I don't read a ton of historicals (novels or otherwise). Now, if I talked to my mother - she's probably read them all! She (Emma - not my mom, although she's quite the character too) sounds like an interesting person and subject :)
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Anonymous14 October 2009 at 03:11
You should adhere to writing poems! They are like an 'experience in time!'
Novels, historical only tell a story, whereas poetry is from your heart!
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RETURN: YA Paranormal Romance

I was running late. But, it was nothing I couldn’t make up with a bit of effort. I shook my head. Confident and happy? I smiled. Increasing my stride, I pushed until the muscles in my legs burned. I kept up the pace even when the hill grew steeper.

Magpie Lane was hardly wider than a ribbon that edged the woods but that didn’t stop traffic using it to get to the motorway quicker. Large trucks and fast cars loved Magpie Lane. They sent vibrations running through me rising from the soles of my trainers. I felt the disturbance in the ground, even before the air pressure tried to knock me off balance. I hunched my shoulders as the cab hauling a container spat stones up at me.

Jogging on the spot, at the entrance to woodland, I ached to leave the road and go inside. My Mum was probably still asleep but I could hear her you-never-know-what might-be-in-there lecture buzzing on repeat inside my head. I should run safe. Not even I would argue that running through the woods on my own was the best definition of safe but I wanted to run-wild and the woodland offered me that. This early, I should be safe from axe murderers or perverts in the trees and besides, I was fast.

I jogged down the slope into the trees. From two paces in, I felt different. Freer. It felt so right. Running in the woods did great things for my style. Avoiding the roots and dodging branches forced my stride longer, I had to step higher. The woodland, The Weald, was only a sliver of ancient woodland that the developers forgot to build on but it felt like it could have been anywhere. Everywhere. At any time. The oaks and beech trees dominated the space and the skinny, silver-birches squeezed up beside them. I laughed. For a second, the woods reminded me of school and I needed to run a lot faster.

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Sunday, 11 October 2009

But then there's the reading. I always get to the bitter end - eventually

2 comments: