Reynard
Guru
- Location
- Cambridgeshire, UK
Mmmmmm, choucroute garni 
Keeping your sanity
- Thread starter Moon bunny
- Start date
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Reynard
Guru
- Location
- Cambridgeshire, UK
As a novellist and writer of articles, I always have to go back and correct. And poetry requires constant polishing and tweaking to make it work. So correcting and editing are, well, for me at least, simply part of the process. There's something very therapeutic / satisfying to find the right word for the right place.
Gwylan
Guru
- Location
- All at sea⛵
Mmmmmm, choucroute garni
Nein!
slowmotion
Quite dreadful
- Location
- lost somewhere
Juggling and alcohol.
classic33
Leg End Member
At the same time!
slowmotion
Quite dreadful
- Location
- lost somewhere
Sometimes. It makes no difference to the quality of my juggling....................... which is pretty appalling.
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Jenkins
Legendary Member
- Location
- Felixstowe
The best thing I found to relieve the stress of a working day was to take slightly early retirement.
Accy cyclist
Legendary Member
- Location
- The hills of Accrington
I fantasise that I've been unwillingly transported a hundred years into the future, as in now not 2126. In my thoughts I am from 1926 and have to get back there! I have to go back as I hate how things are, 100 years into the future! I told a friend my thoughts, then on not hearing from her since before Christmas I posted the other day that I've made it back home to 1926 and I'm so happy! I look forward to her reply....if she ever does!🙄
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biggs682
Itching to get back on my bike's
- Location
- Northamptonshire
Listening to music, riding a bike , walking and gardening can all work for me.
Ming the Merciless
There is no mercy
- Location
- Inside my skull
If i am writing something; then the first draft is simply my thoughts. I don't worry about grammar or structure. The purpose of my first draft is capture the essence, corrections and structure can come later. I am always wary of trying to “correct” something too early. It can lose its soul that way.
OP
OP
Moon bunny
Judging your grammar
- Location
- Basking in my own brilliance.
I also find time for short-story writing: Lunchtime’s effort
**The Lightbulb Weasel**
Maz discovered her peculiar talent by accident. While helping her grandmother clean out her attic, she found himself inexplicably drawn to an old anglepoise with a burnt-out bulb. As she unscrewed it, something magical happened—the dead filament flickered to life in her palm.
Within months, Maz had amassed the world's most unusual collection: 2847 lightbulbs, each one rescued from certain disposal. Her room resembled a luminous cave, with filament bulbs casting amber glows, fluorescents humming softly, and LEDs twinkling like captured stars.
Friends called her the "Lightbulb Weasel"—a nickname that stuck after she was caught sneaking through office buildings at night, liberating discarded bulbs from rubbish bins. Maz preferred "illumination preservationist."
Her prized possession was a 1920s carbon filament bulb from an abandoned theatre. When lit, it seemed to whisper stories of variety acts and opening nights. Maz would sit beneath its gentle glow, surrounded by her glowing menagerie, feeling like a curator of forgotten light.
The collection grew until Maz realised something profound: she wasn't just collecting bulbs—she was collecting moments of human ingenuity, each one representing someone's bright idea made manifest.
She was taking over from god, letting there be light where no light should be, which angered the Almighty.
One day, as she climbed a post to liberate a low pressure sodium she had spotted flickering, there was a flash from the sky and Maz fell to the ground, lifeless. Back in her room, her collection also flickered and died, never to glow again. The jealous Lord of light had taken his revenge.
**The Lightbulb Weasel**
Maz discovered her peculiar talent by accident. While helping her grandmother clean out her attic, she found himself inexplicably drawn to an old anglepoise with a burnt-out bulb. As she unscrewed it, something magical happened—the dead filament flickered to life in her palm.
Within months, Maz had amassed the world's most unusual collection: 2847 lightbulbs, each one rescued from certain disposal. Her room resembled a luminous cave, with filament bulbs casting amber glows, fluorescents humming softly, and LEDs twinkling like captured stars.
Friends called her the "Lightbulb Weasel"—a nickname that stuck after she was caught sneaking through office buildings at night, liberating discarded bulbs from rubbish bins. Maz preferred "illumination preservationist."
Her prized possession was a 1920s carbon filament bulb from an abandoned theatre. When lit, it seemed to whisper stories of variety acts and opening nights. Maz would sit beneath its gentle glow, surrounded by her glowing menagerie, feeling like a curator of forgotten light.
The collection grew until Maz realised something profound: she wasn't just collecting bulbs—she was collecting moments of human ingenuity, each one representing someone's bright idea made manifest.
She was taking over from god, letting there be light where no light should be, which angered the Almighty.
One day, as she climbed a post to liberate a low pressure sodium she had spotted flickering, there was a flash from the sky and Maz fell to the ground, lifeless. Back in her room, her collection also flickered and died, never to glow again. The jealous Lord of light had taken his revenge.
Why would you want to live in the Great Depression.🤷🏼♂️
Accy cyclist
Legendary Member
- Location
- The hills of Accrington
Not all suffered in that period
Sometimes you have to take the rough with the smooth! 🤷♂️
Actually the great depression wasn’t till 1929. However just think of those minor illness you could have died from in those days.
