In Need of a Hug, Lisa Shambrook

A friend of mine, Lisa Shambrook, recently wrote a wonderful post called: In Need of a Hug. I loved it so much I wanted to share it on my blog too.

Here are some highlights, but to read the full post (with some great video links too) go over to Lisa's blog, HERE. 

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I read this week that the more you hug your children the faster their brains develop. New-born babies shown more affection had stronger brain responses. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Touch and hugs show affection, love, protection, and compassion, everything a child needs. It’s one of the reasons babies are born and placed on their mother’s chest or at their breast – skin-on-skin touch helps bonding and gives comfort.

I also watched a report of a man, Antar Davidson, working with children recently separated from their mother in a migrant detention home in Tucson, who was asked to intervene and explain to three siblings aged 16, 10, and 8 that it was against shelter policy to hug. He was told to tell them to stop hugging. Antar refused and quit his job. These children only had each other left in a terrifying and alien situation and they were asked to relinquish touch between each other. It seems an atrocious and altogether backward move to make.


Removing touch from a relationship can be dangerous. The ability to convey love and emotion within a relationship is paramount to keeping a bond and an emotional connection. One of our basic needs is to feel closeness, to touch each other, and to feel security within love. Animals know this. My dog welcomes us home with physical touch, and my cats rub against us and crave being stroked.



Shared with permission.

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 62

This week's picture prompt is rather marvelous and I had thought it would be easy to find the artist/photographer - but sadly to no avail! 😕 Such a shame. It's full of atmosphere.

This week I went for something a bit ghostly and suspense-filled. I have run over the word count by quite a bit, but it couldn't be cut further. Plus it's my challenge. 😉 (and I am late writing and posting). Anyway, enjoy.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

The Book

He ran down the stairs as fast as his could, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the stone walls. He needed to get the library as fast as he could. He had to find the book, and fast.

While his body raced so did his mind as he thought about which shelf it would be on; it would be high up, in the back in the section where the warden would never let them go. But the warden wouldn’t be there; no one was anymore. The castle was empty, except for him and whatever was stalking him. That’s why he needed the book.

He rushed into the library, part of his brain registering the musty smell of ancient tomes that held the answer to more than life itself. He rain to the far corner and rattled the metal gate that enclosed the prized books. He had to get in.

Then he heard them: footsteps, after him as they always were. He shook the gate. It had to open; he had to have that book! He could hear the footsteps coming at high speed. Oh no what was he going to do?

He ran, trying not to trip down the stairs. Going head over heels on these flagstones would be the end of him, but he had to get to the library he had to get to find that book. It held the answer to whoever was chasing him. It must be why he was alone. It had taken them all.

He rushed along the corridor to the library, bursting into the quiet darkness. He grabbed a candle off a table as he went, fumbling in his pocket for matches he knew were there.

He reached the metal cage the book was behind and shook it. It was locked. Where was the key? He could barely see in the low light. He struck a match and lit the candle, giving it a second to grow bright enough for him to search for the keys. They must be on the warden’s desk. He went over to it and searched the tops and draws, but as he did so the sound of the running footsteps reached him. What should he do? He snubbed out the candle.

He ran, not caring about the sound his footsteps made on the stone stairs. He had to reach the library; there was no time to lose. The book was there, it held the answer to this incessant chase, to finding the identity of his pursuer. He was tired of running. He needed to get the book down from that shelf.

He rushed into the library, flying past all the shelves to the back where the book was held. He knew the cage door was locked, but he was sure the keys were in the Warden’s desk draw. He would find them. He almost ran into the desk in the darkness.

Realising he needed light, he snatched a candle holder that still had a stub in it and lit it, his shaking hand making it take longer than he liked. He knew he would hear the footsteps again soon, they were never far behind. He pulled the draws open, shuffling about in each one. The keys had to be here. They must be. The bottom draw yielded a reassuring sound as he pulled it out. They were here! He grabbed them.

But it was too late, he could hear the footsteps, rushing along the corridor outside. He had no time. He had to snub out the candle.

He ran, the slapping of his feet on the hard stone stairs resounding off the walls. He didn’t care if his stalker heard him. He always seemed to know where he was anyway. He had to get to the library and find the book. The key was in the bottom draw. He would snatch it as soon as he got in there.

He sped down the corridor to the library; it seemed to get longer each time. He was tired, so tired, but he had to keep going. He had to have that book.

He went straight to the desk and pulled on the draw. There was no need for the candle, he could feel for the keys. He took them to the metal cage door, seeing the outline of the lock in the moonlight coming through the high library windows. There were four keys, he tried each one, and as expected it was the last that fit. He got the door open. He thought to pause but he knew that once he heard the footsteps all would be lost.

He rushed to the end of the aisle of books. It was up on the top. He grabbed the ladder, his heart pounding. The end was in sight. Once he had it in his hands he would be safe.

Was that the sound of footsteps of was his mind playing tricks? He clambered up the ladder, ignoring it sway. His hand ran along the books and then he felt it: warm to the touch. He yanked it out of its tight spot with one hand and clutched it close to his chest.

He paused at the top of the ladder, waiting. Was it over? Were there footsteps? Had his stalker gone?

And then it came back to him: the incantation, the fall down the stairs - he was being stalked by a ghost, and the ghost was him.

 

Cover Release! - Slipping Through

I'm working on the final edits and formatting for my new book, due out on July14th. But I have finalised the cover, front and back. Take a look:

The ebook/Kindle versions are currently available for pre-order on Amazon and Smashwords.

I will be bringing out a print version that will be available on Amazon too.

Although there might be a handful of dark scenes in this book, it is a collection of science-fiction stories not horror, and stretches into surreal, with all stories containing some kind of time travel.

If this is something you might like don't hesitate to pre-order - and spread the word!

Giveaway

And don't forget, my giveaway for a chance to win a free pocket edition  of Mostly Dark is still running!

The finally day will be release day for Slipping Through - 14th of July. Sign up if you haven't already! You have until Midnight Central European Time on the 14th to enter.

Review - Brave New World, Aldous Huxley

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I wonder what Aldous Huxley would think of his books being read on a hand-held electronic device? At the time he wrote this he could not conceive of the technology that would arrive in less than a 100 years after he had written it. And although his descriptions of advancement in technology are out-dated and clearly based off what was available or popular in the early 1930s (like helicopters), the concepts he talks about are not. There are so many layers in this book.

I wonder why this book is not studied in schools rather than the likes of Lord of the Flies and The Handmaids Tale, which are not as well written or as philosophical about civilisation in their storylines - although Aldous Huxley's constant use of the word 'Pneumatic' might have something to do with it. A word that he seems to think covers a wide range of things, but is not really a word used in this day and age. This is one of the few down falls of this novel, along with its steampunk and old fashioned feel, which is common in Science-fiction from the turn of the century - it's dated. The same thing will happen in a 100 years with modern day sci-fi. The pictures authors paint of a modern future are tainted by the current state of technology and fashion.

It could also be the underline message in this novel that is so disturbing. The idea that to keep a world of genetically engineered people believing they are happy, they have to be conditioned through subliminal audio dictations while sleeping as children, and once they reach adulthood to give them access to a drug that they can take when they need to obliterate any emotion other than the pretense of being happy. They are conditioned that it is not normal to spend time alone and to always go out and socialise. And that everyone has sex with everyone else whenever they like - it's impolite not to. There is no risk of pregnancy or disease or aging. Their salary is the drug, to keep them under control and civilised, and at no time feeling anything negative. It's the ultimate horror novel - and why I enjoyed reading it so much. The ending is the other extreme of what happens when someone not raised in such conditioning tries to live and function there, and to some extent the outcome of such false living. I could say suppression but really, are they, with access to anything their hearts desire? Although that debate is in itself what makes this novel so intriguing.

I remember the film which doesn't really put across the depth of the novel, as movies of books often don't, and I think of movies like The Island which are influenced by this novel in the concepts of genetic engineering and cloning.

I understand why others might not enjoy this novel, with its outdated language and style, but I thoroughly enjoyed it and would recommend it to any science-fiction lovers.

View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 61

This week's prompt is a picture of a sculpture by Ivan Puig, a Mexico based artist. He calls this Drowning Art and has other objects in similar scenario.  You can see more on his website (click on his name) or this article.

I tried not to go with obvious and ended up with something much darker than intended. I liked how it ties in. It worked, although I am hoping no one will be triggered by it. Read at your own risk.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

The Chairs

Damon viewed the display and began to feel sick; something was wrong. It was the chairs. It took him a few minutes to make the connection but once he did, he couldn’t disconnect from it.

They had that rough texture he knew so well, where the paint had come off and you could get splinters, especially if you were forced to sit on them naked. And the colour added to the memory: it was the same green his mother had chosen when she decorated their kitchen - these could be the same chairs.

He laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought, and then remembered he was in public and glanced round to see if others had noticed. They hadn’t; they were working their way through the displays, many with headphones on, oblivious to him.

This was a sculpture; they couldn’t be the chairs from his childhood. He looked at the information board for this exhibit. The artist had called this style ‘Drowning Art’, because it looked like they had been sucked into the ground. He read about the chairs, how they had been discarded in a skip. The artist came from his hometown. Something niggled at the back of his mind. No, they couldn’t be.  

The display was open so you could walk through the chairs. He walked up to a couple of them and looked closely at the top on the backs. He could see identical marks on either side. He knew those marks. A shot of adrenaline ran through him, and his stomach began to churn. He had spent years in therapy trying to work through the trauma he’d suffered in these chairs. His palms became sweaty and tears pricked his eyes.

He remembered the straps and how they would cut into his wrists, and how he would wriggle, trying to get free before his dad came home. That’s where the splinters in his bottom had come from. How he would start pleading the second the front door opened, his mother cold and harsh as she reminded him of the small infraction that she felt deserved this torture – anything from forgetting to flush the toilet to turning over the channel on the telly without permission. It had all depended on her mood; you could never predict what would trigger her. And his dad would just play along. Sometimes Damon thought he even relished it.

Damon’s legs felt weak as his mind was flooded with the sights and sounds of the recollection and the incredulous situation of finding the chairs here, on display, hundreds of miles from where the horrors had taken place. Here it was all laid out in front of him like this. He wished the chairs would drown and be buried forever, like his childhood.  

Review - To Be A Cat, by Matt Haig

To Be A Cat by Matt Haig
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this to my 9yo, who also enjoyed it too. It led to debates about whether some people are cats or not - and for a while there we believed they might be!

A fast paced, well-written, suspense-filled story about a boy Barney whose wish to become a cat comes true, and he realises that it's not always a good thing to get what you wish for. The underline message in this book is an important one: it is about accepting yourself and enjoy being who you are, because you are unique. In today's world children really struggle to remain true to who they are, wanting to fit in and make friends, especially with technology making it more difficult to connect and socialise in person.

This book also tells the story of the bully - the truth about who they are and why they behave as they do. I really liked the characters, they were easy to engage with and to have an strong emotions about: the horrible Miss Whipmire, and Barney's lovely best friend Rissa. It was full of twists in the plot too, and the mystery of the identity of the Terrorcat. There was so much to enjoy.

I would highly recommend this book. And I am rapidly becoming a Matt Haig fan.


View all my reviews

Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 60

This week's photo was taken by one of my great writer friends, Michael Wombat, when he was in Blackpool, November 2017. This is a sculpture of a giant sea shell by Stephen Broadbent called The Golden Shell (or Mary's Shell) and it was installed on Cleveleys Beach in October 2013. It is inspired by The Sea Swallow children's book and you can read more about it here.

I love the possibilities this object inspires. I seem to be in a bit of a sci-fi/alien phase at the moment and this picture just fed into that.

The General Guidelines can be found here.

How to create a clickable link in Blogger comments can be found on lasts week's post here.

Alien Objection

The report had said it was a piece from a satellite in orbit and it was nothing to worry about, although its lack of impact on the ground confused people. No one thought anything of it; it became a landmark, a natural sculpture of sorts, and being out in the tide line of the beach it didn’t bother anyone or get in the way. It was referred to as ‘The Shell’ and it drew visitors and helped the economy of the area.

Then the dead animals started to be discovered, all within a hundred metre radius. From small creatures like rabbits, hares, mice, to larger animals like badgers, foxes and even a deer. There was speculation that it was ritualistic: someone practicing the occult, but there was no defined lay out of the animals and no blood. The autopsies revealed they had all suffered some kind of brain bleed, along with ruptured ear drums.

People became a little scared. And then it happened: The first human body was found.

It was my neighbour’s son, little Jake. He was only 8 years old. He loved shells and stones, and could be found most evenings after school down by the edge of the sea, poking around in rock pools left behind by the high tide. His mum had made sure he had all his swimming certificates before he was allowed to go there alone, even so people still said he had drowned. But he hadn’t. He’d also had a brain bleed brought on by burst ear drums. And his body hadn’t been anywhere near the water when he was found.

It was enough to unnerve a few people and houses started going up for sale as families began to move away. And people stopped going to the beach. No one wanted to be near it. Except me.

I wanted to know more. I wanted to see it up close and touch it and try and understand if this thing really did have anything to do with it. Was I worried? A little, but I was born without ear drums so I didn’t consider myself at risk.

I went right up to it; I touched its smooth black surface. I tapped it and felt it vibrate under my fingers. The vibration went on a long time. I could feel it through my body and the ground.

I wondered fleetingly if it was a bomb – but if it was, surely it would have gone off by now? I walked all round it. I even climbed inside.

It was open, with coils that ran round like a spring. I could see everything outside: the sky, the sea. But it looked different: the colours were too vivid and it was out of focus, like I was looking at something projected. Then that vibration came again, and I felt the structure move beneath me. Then the view outside changed; I was no longer looking up at the sky, I was looking down at it, and around me was the blackness of space and the stars.  

But before I had a chance to react, I was back on the ground, although a ground that I don’t recognize. The sand has a strange purple hue and what looks like sea is a thick black syrupy liquid. The sky is blue and I don’t have problems breathing, but I haven’t yet dared to venture off the beach. I’m frightened what I’ll find there. Plus I keep hanging out inside the shell in the hope that it will take me back. But since my arrival it seems to be dormant, more like the sculpture it had became viewed as originally. No amount of tapping elicits a vibration. I don’t know what to do. I just want to go home.