I have always gloried in/at the written word, and for a very special reason.
When I was younger, I stuttered. Badly. I have long since outgrown the worst of that malady, however there are still times I struggle to make the words come out exactly the way I want them to. When I’m overly tired, or stressed about one thing or another, it’s like my tongue swells in my mouth and decides, “Nah, I don’t feel like working anymore today. I’m going to go take a nap.” Grrr.
At times like these it can sound like I have downed a fifth of Jack Daniels, while never having had a drop.
There are moments when it seems like my brain is this large, open end of a funnel, and my mouth has this tiny, tapered opening. I have so much I want to say (all the time, or so my family says), but when speaking aloud, it all gets jumbled when I try to get them to pour out. Clogged. More often than not, speaking for me, even to this day? Can make me feel like an embarrassed idiot.
To say my often inability to accurately translate what it is I want to say out loud is frustrating, doesn’t begin to describe it.
At any given time, I have what seems to be a hundred thoughts rolling around my head at one time. Thoughts filled with things I have recently read, current news stories, or just random “Hello—where did you come from?” thoughts. I want to share, to discuss, I love to debate, but I can’t. Being unable to communicate all the thoughts in my head often leaves me with the feeling of being trapped, confined.
I suppose that is why writing is so very magical for me.
Every word, every single one I want to use, while writing, is at my disposal with an easy press of a key. They’re just there, the words flow as fast as my fingers will allow. Any tongue-twisting combination, any word difficult to pronounce because of weird letter placement, any word at all… I can write them and say exactly what I want to say, every time. Writing for me, is a gift. My ability to write is one I never take for granted.
Writing is my escape from the trap, my early release from confinement, the bars ripped free from my cage. Reading, writing, words on a page…
What I see when I look at them?
I see my freedom.
And so saying? I always try to enjoy said freedom to its highest degree. With my new book, Penny Willan and the Well, coming out on March 10th, 2015…
I tried to do just that.
There exists a place,
full of disgrace,
a small town of a few hundred people.
A place of magic,
where the tragic,
is hidden underneath a fallen steeple.
No one really knows,
how the true story goes,
or where the curse had started.
But the curse is one,
forever darkening the sun,
damning the dearly departed.
Thy know no rest,
for the best,
are taken as payment for wishes,
from a magic so dark,
it fills one’s heart,
and the very soul it bewitches.
‘Tis by the old church,
that something there lurks,
deep in the wishing-well.
There something hides,
on its insides,
ready to damn you to Hell.
So drop in your penny,
whenever you’re ready,
and wish for all you could dream.
Wishes come with a price,
so please, think twice,
Envy will tear you apart till you scream.
On this dark night,
a mother walks with no light,
to the old well out by the steeple.
With a wiggling bag,
this aging old hag,
plans to make quite the ripple.
Within the well-water,
in order to foster,
her dream of regained beauty & youth.
To revive love ‘twill cost her,
her very own daughter,
for this showing of faith takes great proof.
Her young daughter Penny,
shivers and shimmies,
from deep in the heart of the sack.
She knows her own Mother,
unlike any other,
‘twas a mother’s love she did lack.
A family you see,
wasn’t to she,
all Mother hoped it would be.
So, Mother plotted to end it,
and to her benefit,
“Well, why wouldn’t she?”
Being a mom had taken a toll,
Mother had grown weary and old
of this life she had chosen.
Mother plotted and planned,
through night’s caravan,
to get rid of what was broken.
Her little girl,
who was her Father’s world,
will soon be a problem no longer.
Envy will take her this night,
then Mother’s dreams would alight,
she was already feeling stronger.
Mother approached the well,
that would see her in Hell,
the penance for her dark faith.
‘Twas then Mother heard a whisper,
“Come closer. Come hither.”
A hissed voice from a cursed wraith.
Dead tree branches rattled,
the cold wind seethed, it prattled
of abominations about to unfold.
A lone wolf howled,
the full moon it prowled,
ready for evils untold.
Mother stopped by the well,
which was only a shell,
for a demon devil incarnate.
She only said this,
“Take the girl for my wish.”
And dropped her daughter into the heart of it.
Down Penny screamed,
part of a hellish dream,
she fell into the jaws of Hell.
Mother dusted her hands,
she had done what she’d planned,
though now she was feeling unwell.
Then Mother looked at her hand,
the gleam of her bridal band,
from the hypnotic light of the moon.
She smiled when she saw,
her dreams had become all,
youth and beauty returned, her boon.
It was worth the price,
she could get back to life,
being the beauty she’d once been.
Mother cried and she laughed,
whilst through the night she passed,
back to her house, since when
she decided to take
her own damned fate,
like a devil she grabbed by the horns.
Mother wouldn’t be acquitted
for this act she committed,
if revealed, her demise ‘twould be borne.
If you liked this one?