a thing for bad teeth

When I write stories ( which I haven't done properly for some time - sorry one fan!)  I tend to oscillate between slightly crazy tales (The Bad Egg, My Dad Fudge ) and more spiritual, soulful stories ( The Fish of Al-Kawthar's Fountain, Tombuctou.) It is like I have two different story-tellers living in the one body and the one with the loudest voice gets to shout their story next. 

Well it looks like crazy has won for now as I am happy to announce that I have finally had a story accepted for publication in a journal in America again. It's been a while - I have been too busy living and dying to write (actually I wrote this story quite a while ago - it's only just found its home now). Happy home-coming baby!

     The story,  which is called 'Ulla's Gift',  is about a woman who has a thing for men with really bad teeth. ( I think I wrote it with my most beloved ( and neglected) wise woman in mind as she definitely does not have a thing for bad teeth :-) You have no idea how lovely it is to get an email from an editor actually thanking you for writing the story - like you did them a favour! Usually it is the other way around (O thank you thank you great god of editing for even reading my story let alone rejecting it so promptly!) I have noticed a few little mistakes in the story though that I hope I can right before it comes out, which will be -  who knows when -  because right now the editor is finding the right issue to include it in.
     In the meantime I am writing another story - The Keeper. This most definitely falls into the latter category of my writing and I feel when  it is finished it will be a special work for me.

Lament for Damascus

Last night I dreamt I was in Damascus. Running through the ancients streets trying to find my way to the Souk Al-Hamidiya. I was running with two other western woman and a number of Syrian rebels but as I passed the soldiers in the streets I could see the same fear and the same love in their eyes.  No one was divided and yet somehow we all were. There was no trust in any person - it was a terrifying and dark place. Eventually we had to turn back because we were attracting too much attention and  ended up having to make a "double decoy deal" (dreamspeak for who knows what  - but it involved the exchange of large wads of cash in a black leather bag by a very sassy American army woman.)  The deal took place at the BBC's reporter's table that had been set up in a square and was being coordinated by a man dressed in a shiny yellow jumpsuit whom they called 'the plastic man'. Finally we found a safe house and inside it were lots of children chasing each other around a large barn throwing beautiful colourful fireworks into the air. I woke with a lament in my heart for Damascus.

Then when I read the news today I lamented even more.

tiny seeds

Yesterday it was very hot in Basel. All my students panted like dogs in the classroom as they watched a rather dispirited Joanna Show ( in my opinion anyway.) Even though it is summer outside I believe right now I am still in winter. I know there are tiny seeds in me waiting to bloom but I need the winter to pass. I need to grow my plants.
Maybe Greece will bring me some welcome sun but right now I don't feel like being there at all.  I don't see my trip to Greece as some sort of bold step towards my path -  I believe I am still far too lost for that. The Greece trip I believe is my way of trying to save my life. When I say save my life I don't mean it in some sort of melodramatic triple-by pass kind of  way. I am in reasonably good health and I am grateful every day for this.  But my soul is in deep crisis and I believe somehow it needs to be saved.