Tag Archives: random

Derpy McDerpFace

I’ve got a friend watching over me at work now…

Derpy toy

I still miss him. I talk to him every day – my commute takes me past the railway bridge, and I always say hello, or call him an idiot, or just smile. I write something I think he’d enjoy, or glance at my phone to see if I’ve got a message, or think of something I want to put in a game.

His favourite was Pinkie Pie, but I never entirely understood that, because he didn’t seem like a Pinkie Pie. He was either Twilight Sparkle, or more frequently – when he’d just drilled through a pipe, or tripped over nothing, or nearly dropped the tea, or done something stupid in-game – Derpy. And so it felt entirely fitting to have a small smiling Derpy sitting on my desk to remind me that my friend will always be around; it’s nice to have the memory just there. It’s also helping me when  I think of him – it means I’m not dwelling on the memories, as I can just attach them to something and then move on. It’s been really hard recently, and I’ve hated having time alone to think (despite time with people being equally hard) so I’m hoping this will help.

I’m learning more about him too, which makes me miss him all the more – I wanted to discover the things with him, and have that beaming smile. He could shoot well, had his own airsoft pistol, and enjoyed doing it – something I wouldn’t have expected from the Ryan I knew. I can see facets of his personality in his interactions with others; his profile picture with his brother always makes me blink, because they’re both pulling faces – that was the Ryan I knew, but it’s just a reminder that I only knew a slice of him, and he relaxed so much with others, too.

bunny toyI do also have another friend at work…he was left behind by one of my colleagues’ daughters, and so he’s been helping me with my anxiety days! He now has a post-it on saying “Free for bunny hugs” as I don’t want anyone to think he’s just mine. Everyone was incredibly chilled at the fact I was hugging a bunny for most of a day last week, which is brilliant. I think one of the major facets of making people in general more aware of mental health is just normalising the coping mechanisms. If I need to go for a walk or hug a bunny, then hey, that’s fine – and I really hope that’ll extend to anyone else in the office who needs the same thing for any reason.

And there’s the puppies, of course, who are always up for hugs – or pulling the head off a stuffed cow, whichever one seems more exciting. Both come with equal amounts of slobber!

Heartaches and London

I had to go through London recently, for the first time in about ten years. Sure, I’ve been back – but it was passing through, driving to my sister’s, getting the bus to Victoria. It wasn’t anywhere that I lived.

I was there for four years at University, living near London Bridge, Hackney, White City, Elephant & Castle. I usually walked everywhere – partly because I was a student and partly from a childhood of walking to school. And I did walk everywhere; up to Holborn and Euston, up to Camden; down to Elephant and Camberwell and Vauxhall; in from Hackney and White City and Kensington. I explored Covent Garden and Soho, Southwark, the South Bank and The Strand. I caught the bus out to the tiny villages merged into the huge bulk of the city, and back into the wharves and docks and palaces of London’s heart.

I loved that city.

I remembered the peculiar smell of the Jubilee Line, and the odd gust of wind that you get as the train’s coming in to the station. I can still ride the tubes, brace myself without looking like I am – effortlessly standing as the train ploughs to a halt and all the tourists lurch forwards. The walk down from London Bridge to Waterloo, along the edge of the water; the bitter, hot smell of the street just after the Golden Hind, where one of the buildings vents out into the narrow street; how to dodge the tourists and lingerers at the Tate, and fit in with the commuters striding across Waterloo Bridge; the graffitti in the underpass at Blackfriars and the ever-changing trees woven with lights at the Oxo Tower. I remember looking out over the water, seeing the boats go past, and sitting in the bar at Kings’ and looking out past the 1960’s concrete walls that did nothing for the atmosphere of the Strand, over towards the South Bank. I remember riding the bus up past Trafalgar and Hyde Park,  the tube to White City, looking at the station names in wonder. I remember riding the night bus, sitting in a moored ship on the Thames, drinking in a cellar bar, riding the Eye.

I loved London with a pain that made me smile every time I stepped off the train, with a touch to my heart that broke it every time I left. I loved the lights, the details, the colours, the life. I loved turning a corner and finding something new, or something old. I loved being one person amongst thousands, uncaring.

It hurt to go back.

I grieved after I left, but I knew I was right to leave. I wouldn’t have wanted to be a commuter; a student’s freedom was wonderful, but I’d hate to work there. It took a few years for the grief to fade, and I never really liked going back. I made my life elsewhere, and was grateful when my occasional trips back never took me near the places I’d loved.

But we came in to Waterloo. We travelled down the Thames. I traced the routes I’d walked, the places I’d seen; I knew what was coming next, the details, the hidden gems. I remembered the smell of the tube before it hit me, trod up the escalator and turned the right way at the top. I watched my city fly past around me, and I felt my heart break all over again.

It isn’t mine, not any more. I am no longer a part of it; it has not changed, and I know that I could go back…

It’s not my place. But it hurt so much to see something that I loved so deeply, and know that I have stepped away from it.

Blog Birthday! Writing&Coe is four!

Over the four years, I’ve published 537 posts…70 writing and 67 reviews, and the rest either blog or assorted! I’ve had 8610 views over the past year, and 3756 visitors. It’s pretty good for a small blog about me, writing, books, crafty stuff and anything else I feel like writing about – so THANK YOU FOR READING!

I’ve been so disorganised this year that I don’t have any Kate writing freebies, but I can point you in the direction of some freebies from my publisher, Kristell Ink…there’s a free copy of Amunet (steampunk Victoriana adventure with a lot of mystery, a dollop of magic and some really good characters), and also a Rafflecopter of freebies including an Amazon gift card, easter eggs (just in case you’ve run out) and paperback books. Go enter at ttps://www.facebook.com/KristellInk/?sk=app_228910107186452

Portal Cake

Also have some cake, because…

Well, cake!

By the way, the next Greensky book is out soon – I don’t have a date yet (we’re waiting on cover art) but it’s coming!

Old writing: Mugglethorpe

A piece written about a gnoll-type creature, and its adventures…I have no idea what I wanted to happen in the end, but I liked the character!

Singing echoed through the trees; a slightly cracked, not unpleasant voice that broke on the higher notes and resonated on the low ones. It bounced off gnarled trunks and climbed up through the mossy leaves, creating odd echoes and harmonies.

“Knowing the land, knowing the ways, living here ‘til the end of days…” the voice continued, obviously in time with a walking stride. Then the voice lapsed into prose and became more of a happy chatter. “Well, we seen Mumps, and Gnoel…we has got lunch and dinner, and probably supper as well…and we had a good walk. Ent that right, Triffid?”

Triffid doesn’t seem to answer. The voice continued, “And today we be going to plant the mosses, and weed ‘em out as well…and Mumps gives us some seeds to plant as wells. We do that today, okays, Triffid?”

The voice came round the corner, appearing from behind a willowy tree. A small, squat figure, covered with a rather tattered square of material tied with a twisted, gnarled root that traps the fabric very effectively. It carries a small grubby pack on its back, and is followed by something that looks like a large, hairy woodlouse – either that or a spiky pillow on legs. Wandering over to the huge, gnarled specimen that stood to the side of a small clearing, the singer rummaged in the depths beneath the tatty cloak and produced something. Carefully inserting it into a crack in the trunk, the little singing figure turned it and slipped through the crack that appeared, followed by the woodlouse. The trunk snapped shut again and the woodland becomes silent.