That Friday Feeling.

2015-03-27 12.02.11

Today I have mixed feelings, its Friday so that signals the beginning of the weekend. Yay!

But it also means that at 3:30pm, the Easter holidays commence. I know I should treasure every moment with my little angels and I try my best to. It’s just that when my angels grow horns and turn into whingeing, vengeful demons who wish to destroy everything and everyone in their path,( we’ve hit the pre-teen years.) I have the urge to run for cover, at the very least I begin calculating how many weeks, day’s and hours are left before they return to school.

There are however some wonderfully funny moments that come from stroppy kids. Can you imagine how much noise a child on crutches can make? Now think about that child having a full on meltdown and attempting to make a swift exit. It’s all going well for them until they reach the stairs. It’s a slow process to get to the top of the stairs and maintain their bad attitude all whilst muttering. It takes staying power to carry that out and a huge dollop of stubbornness, which my kids seem to have a full supply of.

Over the weekend I’m planning what I can do to occupy them with over the next two weeks. I’m keeping my fingers and toes crossed that I can fit in time to write, as my list of work is expanding.

So for today I am treating myself. I’ve made a banana cake, topped with lemon buttercream and it’s actually edible! ( I have that on good authority from Amelia, my eldest daughter.)

So I sit down at my desk knowing that this is my last chance of peace and quiet and that editing is my priority. I have a huge slice of my cake and a hot cup of tea next to me and for the moment, all is well with the world.

Any suggestions of activities for three angel/demons with disabilities would be greatly received, or support and encouragement to get me through the next two weeks. Chuckle 🙂

When The Music Died – Friday Fictioneers Photo Prompt

Copyright David Stewart

Here is my 100 word, flash fiction piece.

When The Music Died.

Music fills the night, consuming my screams as the band plays on without me in the village Bandstand.

I crawl away from him, willing my battered and bruised body to get up.

I feel his breath on the back of my neck. He wraps his arm around my waist, pinning me to him.

His hand makes an air tight seal over my mouth and nose.


My chest burns.

Need air…           


Darkness closing in, as the drummer performs his solo.

I’m here…

A solitary tear slides down my cheek.

One beat…

Two beat…

No beat.

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Thanks but…

…no thanks.

Maybe you should stick to colouring in – here have a pencil.

On second thoughts, give it back, these baby’s are hard to come by!

Yep, that will be another NO then. Another, don’t call us and we’ll forget we ever had your number!

But I’m telling myself it can’t be all bad as I’m getting nicer rejections.

When I first started out editors would threaten to set the dogs on me or peek from behind the curtains, pretending they’d moved. Now I’m getting personal messages saying, ‘not for us, but keep sending.’

That can’t be bad right?

Well whether it is or not, I’m still feeling sorry for myself, so clinging to my broken dreams like Gollam to his ring, here’s another picture of a cake.

This time, Rocky Road Chocolate Squares, decorated by my lovely, and now chocolate iced, boys 🙂


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