T-L Spencer: Dreaming, Writing, Reading

With there being only four days until christmas, I am completely mystified by the large present that is currently sitting on the leather chair in the corner of the living room. Yes, I will admit, I have been especially spoiled this christmas and am thoroughly looking forward to opening all of the impressive gifts that seem to be sparkling under the tree. But that big box in the corner looks really cool. Mostly because I have no idea as to what it may be. Sixty cm by seventy cm by about twenty: a big box with shiny snowman wrapping paper and no tag. (All xmas tags have clues on them eg Jolly Lovely Season - JLS Album) There are no clues on this gift- it really is a mystery. On top, also wrapped, are two other gifts, smaller than the main one. What could they be? I love surprises, but this is driving me mad!! Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

The heat of the March Spanish sun couldn’t penetrate the thick oak doors of the Irish Bar. Not that heat is really an issue , Jack thought, since it’s beginning to get dark . He huffed loudly and looked around, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkened interior. It was actually quite clean, and surprisingly large, even with the thick oak beams on the ceiling. Large dark wood pillars stood in the centre with pride, adding an aged look to the structure, all of them neatly decorated with Irish heroes. Nice, but not what I’m looking for. What Jack wanted was the bar. He was angry, he was annoyed and he really needed a drink. There it was. Made of mahogany the bar ran the length of the establishment, gracing the right hand side of the building in a soft glow. Like the rest of it, the bar was spotless. There were no spilled drinks, no broken glass. There wasn’t even that faint smell of musk and alcohol. Jack wanted to feel disappointed but couldn’t work up the energy. He was too mad at the...

He had been alone too long. An eternity without companionship was a long time and it was beginning to wear thin. Made at the dawn of time, Raphael had watched over the Earth, healing wounds and time with unparalleled skill and determination, waiting for the prophecy to be fulfilled. Now it had been and as order and goodness had been restored to the world, Raphael had adopted three daughters, who were more precious to him than anything in the entire universe. With them he could be himself, be kind and loving and paternal. Because of them, one of his wishes had been granted. Raphael could be a father. For an archangel to possess such a gift was a rare thing indeed. Be that as it may, he was still lonely. Around the other archangels, Raphael was cold and unfeeling, dedicated to his work, his mission for peace and balance. No one stood in his way as he served the higher power few of them could see, only feel. But he could. He could see the Power glowing all around him. He could see it eve...

 Curled up by the warmth of the fire, drinking hot chocolate, watching the gentle sparkle of the lights on the tree, carols playing softly in the background. Christmas really is my favourite time of year, especially when its white. The thought of donning my wooly hat and scarf in preperation of battle causes excitement to race through me. I would like to celebrate Christmas this year by carrying on with a tradition: the reading of Twas the Night Before Christmas... Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads. And mamma in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. A...

http://www.xmasclock.com/ Countdown to Christmas! Its beginning to look alot like Christmas, everywhere you go, Count down to the night, when the stars are bright, To see Santa making footprints in the snow! Remember: Reindeer do not eat carrots. They make them sick. They eat grasses and shrubs instead!

Yes, bonfire night has come and gone but the smoke still remains. November is a serious month with major historical importance which many, though undertake every year, sometimes miss the significance of. Throughout history, Britain has had a violent past, participating in many wars and has suffered many tragedies as a result. November 11th is fast approaching and though my blog usually concerns itself with Writing What You Believe, I'd like to take a moment to reflect upon the hardships and bravery of the men and women who are risking their lives, and have given them, in service of our country and its people. In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we ...

There are some rules I just have to follow in order to really get in to the flow: 1. Wear warm and comfortable socks. 2. Always wear a pair of pyjamas. 3. Have a sugary snack close by - preferably chocolate. 4. Plenty of fluids available - nothing fizzy. 5. Sit in a light place on a comfortable chair. 6. Listen to music that creates an atmosphere. It has never failed me!

England 1809. Jane Eyre is isolated in the moors, depressed and dying. Collapsing in exhaustion, she is soon rescued by St John Rivers and as she recovers, relives her experiences. As a child, Jane is abused by her cousin John and later abandoned at Lowood School by her aunt, Mrs Reed of Gateshead.   While receiving a thorough education at Lowood, Jane is punished for her passionate nature and experiences true pain and loss as her only friend, Helen, becomes ill and dies in Jane’s arms. Years later, at the age of nineteen, Jane leaves Lowood, having been a teacher for some years and takes the post of Governess at Thornfield. While at Thornfield, Jane befriends Mrs Fairfax, the housekeeper and develops a strong relationship with her employer Mr Rochester. His frank and direct attitude appeals to her and she finds herself jealous of the pretty Miss Ingram, who she assumes holds his affections. When Mr Rochester proposes to Jane, she is overjoyed but soon heart-broken; it is rev...

The cook rants at us in French. I speak a little and understand the speech to mean 'sit down and I will bring your food'. My friends and I aren't looking forward to the meal but because we are in a hostel, we have no real choice but to comply. There is set menu: snails. With chips. As we place ourselves in the far corner of the dining hall, a sickly smell emanates from the kitchens. It makes me feel sick and I watch my friend turn slowly green as the cook delivers our meal. I laugh at the sight of two slimy looking things next to a pile of salted fries. I offer a small smile to my friend and mutter "When in Fance..." I start with the snails, hoping to save the potatoey goodness as something to look forward to. There are no utensils, only a cocktail stick. Wanting my suffering to end as quickly as possible, I prick the snail and squirm when I hear a popping sound. Without delay, I pick it up and put the snail in my mouth. I feel a moment of hesitation. Should...

Evening ends, The cold nights start outside in the street. Souls, shadows of their former selves Ashen in the streetlamp. I insipid in reflection mirrored No longer in shadow gaze. Destiny weaves her web,   Surrounding me with... nothing.   Shadows of night burst from within, breaking the boundaries Of time, forgotten; Create the spark, Fire’s passions dull In the everlasting heart. Hidden below in shadows unknown, Left to quiver, Salt, the tracks, traces of old And molten lava of those cried tears untold. Nobody knew but one in the dark, The whispers. Whispers of a broken heart. The Grave will give birth to the dawn, Help will always come, no matter how small Hope is never lost. Keep fighting, that is all one ever asks, A simple yet uneasy task. Copyright © 2011 TL Spencer

When I named my cats after the infamous plant Belladonna, I never expected them to live up to their formidable namesake. Sadly, I was mistaken.  Bella, italian for beautiful, is for the majority of time, a perfect angel. Unless of course she doesn't get what she wants. Bella, the little darling, can hiss and growl with the best of them and has deceptively sharp claws which she uses to dig into any defenseless skin available. However, Bella is nothing compared to the feline alarm clock, Donna. Every morning without fail, she will waltz into my room at some unearthly hour nd pounce. Not just onto the bed, but on my face! If that doesn't work (which it hardly ever does) she stands up and uses my face as target practice with her bat-like paws. When that fails, she restorts to puffing air onto my nose and after that... she bites. I love my cats, they are adorable, but at times (like 3am) I really have to try.

I’m not just bread; I’m the most sophisticated, scientific bread around. I am not that plain and icky white bread, nor am I the snobby wholemeal type that gets jammed between the teeth. No. I am something much more important: I’m the best of both. The last slice. Here in the dark coolness of the bread bin, I am King. Kingston’s to be exact. It is true. I am the tastiest bread around. When I’m fresh. At present, I am a little on the stale side. In fact, just recently, I have acquired a small fur coat in the top right corner of my being. Usually, were I by myself, this wouldn’t really matter. However, being in a bread bin, I am joined by some rather unscrupulous pastries. The sweet cinnamon swirl does nothing but sing all day and I find myself being bullied by the brioche. Well really, what do you expect? It’s French. Escape is paramount. Escape is the name of the game; to be free from the black void of wooden woe, away from the pastries and bread buns, away from the cheap and cheer...

I spent an entire day at college, attempting to better myself. But my main priority? That was getting home in order to finish off the latest Sparks novel in the Love at Stake series. Gregori Holstein's story was eagerly awaited and it didn't diappoint. With the vampire world in peril, it fell to Gregori, a young and bottlefed vampire to save their kind and persuade the President of the United states to declare the video a hoax. Enter the President's daughter, Abigail. There will be an alliance between the vampires and the Americans on one condition. Gregori must keep Abigail happy and in order to do that, he must take her to China. Because China holds the key to her mother's health... or does it? A brilliant read and I simply cannot wait for the next installment!

The garden furniture got a makeover this morning as we said goodbye to the old and tired brown paint on the JacknJill and our lovely picnic table. It took three hours but the result is fantastic. The JacknJill has come up brilliantly and looks oddly similar to vimto. It certainly adds a certain something to the garden and makes it alot lighter. After all, no one wants a dingy garden do they? The picnic table isn't quite finished, it needs another layer on top and the fiddly bits haven't been done yet. I'm looking forward to finishing it; it gives me the brilliant excuse to get dirty and maybe have a paint fight. I'll just have to make sure that when I get my hands dirty, I don't itch my face!

My second week of the professional writing course has past and I find myself hard at work and the challenge itself is surprisingly refreshing. After nearly a year of staying at home, the change is welcome, even if it is really tiring. I'm looking forward to next week.

Three women are destined to save humanity from the darkness, but they must find each other first.Here is an extract from Blood Angel, volume one of Blood Prophecy: The house was black as pitch, not one thing could lift the cloud of darkness that veiled my eyes as I tip-toed inside the house, weary of the evils that hide within its walls. Out of nowhere, I was attacked, Mother had hit me hard. All I felt was the usual sensation of glass hitting bone before I was unconscious on the floor. Blackness descended upon me, my last sight before darkness took me was of my Mother being subdued by a masculine figure. My guardian angel – a comforting thought as my mind was claimed by hell. “Easy”, a voice, full of masculine heat and concern steadied me as my head spun, “your head took a knock. I could kill your Mother for that.” I lay back down, held my head and asked what time it was. “Two thirty in the morning. Let’s give you some fresh air. I think you need it.” Before I had a chance to protest,...

A moment of moggie... A funny sign is on the box and all I want is to catch bugs. Its still dark and I haven't been outside for hours. I'm a cat, I need to hone my skills, perfect my nunting technique... but my humans won't get up! I make noise, verbalising my disdain for their laziness. They simply fidget in their warm nest and moan, 'Its too early'. I have no idea what that means but it doesn't sound all that good. They ignore me once again and I get impatient. Every minute they lie there, I miss hundreds of hunting opportunities. What could they be thinking? A funny looking paw, they call them hands i think, hangs over the nest, flopping loudly to the floor. It is the male. My whiskers twitch as I walk over to it and nudge it lightly with my cold nose. My whiskers tickle the hand and it moves unexpectedly. I jump back, startled, but it doesn't stop me. I want those bugs, I want those flies. I want that odd animal that hops up and down and sueals when I po...