Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….


Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon – LOVING THE ALIEN

What giant step did you take where you hoped your leg wouldn’t break? Was it worth it, were you successful in walking on the moon, or did your leg break?


Space; The final front ear.  

Or something like that.  I can’t think straight right now.  And I can’t be bothered to google it.

First of all I’d like to stress that I shouldn’t be here in the first place.  I knew from the off that this wasn’t my planet.

But I stayed.  I had no choice.  I existed, I blended in as much as I could, and I survived.  I did everything I could to fit in, pass for one of you, find a tribe, belong.  But it never really worked and whether it was apparent to others or not, I have always been the loner, the odd one out, on the outside looking in.  Humans are smart and their instincts subliminally warn them not to get too close to the alien in their midst.


‘You’re too honest/simplistic/blunt/frank/obvious/naive!’ they would chide/laugh/scold ‘That’s not how to make friends/do business/deal with confrontation/get what you want!  You have to pretend/lie/bullshit/flatter/connive/kowtow/deceive to get things done!  And if you don’t believe in what you’re doing or saying?  Fake it to make it!’

‘Um, what about being myself?’ I’d ask

‘Urgh, what are you talking about?  Who wants to see that?!  No, you need to be different things for different people in order to get what you want in this life, so how could that work?’

So I act? Every time I encounter someone new I morph into my interpretation of what they want me to be?

But i was never any good at that.

And then one day, it all got too much, and I cracked and took that giant step when I walked out of my life, cut all ties and fled back to my own space where I could escape these mad, cruel, ruthless, lying freaks; hide, lick my wounds and regroup.

With the aid of hefty doses of Sertraline of course.  My SSRI Sista.  My saviour.

Space (bass?); How low can you go?

Pretty damn low actually.  I was exhausted, battle torn and afraid.

But I had a plan, and that was to avoid the avaricious, ruthless, two faced members of this race and only mix with my true friends and the good humans.   The honest, the true, the kind, the ethical, the like minded souls, and then I could just be myself, and they’d accept and love my fucked up personality disordered alien ass and I’d be able to settle into something vaguely resembling a life until the Big Guy figures out he dropped me off at the wrong stop.

So I lowered my meds, researched jobs/courses/activities/retreats and sought out the spiritual, the creative, the kind and the ethical and tried to get back into being back on the Mother Earth ship.

Are you surprised to discover that things didn’t quite work out as planned?

Turns out the spiritual/creative/ethical/kind etc. can also betray, lie, manipulate, hurt and let you down.  So I now don’t trust anyone and I’m more alone than ever.

Mission aborted!

Take more happy pills and put your helmet on.

And now, I’m drifting, spaced, watching the minutes, hours, days tick by, vaguely aware that I’m running out of oxygen and trying to find it within me to give a shit.

And I don’t think George Clooney is coming any time soon to rescue me. 😦

So I drink, and sleep and drift and wait.

Planet earth is poo, and there’s nothing I can do.

And as much as somewhere under this cloud of chemicals I rage, seethe and despair of my pain and abandonment, I have to make myself remember.

It’s not you, it’s me.

No truer cliche has been quoth.

So I can stay like this or come down a bit, tune into my inner sat nav and try and find my way back by forgiving and making allowances for the failings and flaws of others.

But most of all my own.

So I pray.  And hope.

That my prayers may break the sky in two

Believing the strangest things

Loving the Alien

Can you hear me Major Tom?

Trackbacks & Pingbacks

  1. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon | Basically Beyond Basic
  2. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon | a Portia Adams adventure
  3. My Giant Step – Daily Prompt | alienorajt
  4. Four Things I Learned About Freedom From an Uber-Strict Prep School | Kosher Adobo
  5. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon- Being Independent | Journeyman
  6. I Think My Leg Is Broken | Musings | WANGSGARD.COM
  7. Rocket To The Moon . | Crossroads
  8. A Rainy Day At Home (short story) and The Daily Prompt | The Jittery Goat
  9. One Crazy Mom » Taking the Next Step
  10. I’m Michael Jackson | Knowledge Addiction
  11. I Will Weather | Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon | likereadingontrains
  12. DP Daily Prompt: Walking On The Moon | Sabethville
  13. Walking On The Moon – You Kidding! | Views Splash!
  14. Daily Prompt: The Giant Step — A Haiku: Sunday, February 23, 2014 |
  15. It’s All About Trying… | Life Confusions
  16. S. Thomas Summers: Writing with Some Ink and a Hammer | A Violin on Baker Street
  17. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon | Here I am !!
  18. Extinction | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  19. Hunters – reloaded | Perspectives on life, universe and everything
  20. Inappropriate love | shame
  21. We Ought to Obey God Rather Than Men | Among the Whispers
  22. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
  23. If You Lose Your Head While Cooking, It Insults My Intelligence | Bumblepuppies
  24. Daily Prompt: Walking on the Moon « Mama Bear Musings
  25. A giant step | Sue’s Trifles
  26. Have Faith In God | Flowers and Breezes
  27. I liked the place so much I bought more than the t-shirt! | thoughtsofrkh
  28. DAILY PROMPT: Risk | cockatooscreeching
  29. Dare To Dream | My Little Avalon



When, like me, you live a life where you are exposed to little stimulus and pleasure (being outdoors, sex, social interaction etc.), something simple like a smell, a taste sensation, a performance or a life affirming song can send you and your emotions flying through the roof.

So after 2 plus hours of watching the half good half wank fest that was this year’s Brits last night, wincing at the terrible presenter, blushing at the pretentious posturing of a certain Northern Monkey and the sad appearance of a stoned, ageing model dressed in one of Bowie’s old cast offs still trying to be down with the kids, the final performance featuring Pharrell, Niles, a gospel choir AND Northern Soul dancers sent my heart and spirit soaring.

You see, I love Nile Rodgers, I love Pharrell’s ‘Happy’, I love gospel singers, and most of all, I LOVE Northern Soul.


I was never actually involved in the Wigan Casino scene back in the day though; I was too young, speccy, geeky and uncool, and my parents would never have let me go there. But I danced it at a local youth club and loved watching the louche, show boating males nonchalantly doing their solo thing, seemingly indifferent to the rag cut cropped girls swirling around them in their Fred Perry tops and Oxford bags, trying to get their attention (although they’d soon glance up when treated to the occasional flash of bare thigh) but it never even occurred to me to try and be a part of that scene, as by then I knew it was better not to be noticed, better to fly under the radar and be invisible than be noticed, bullied, mocked and ridiculed.

But my longing could have built a super, multi story dance venue all on it’s own.

And 40 years on, I felt the age old pang of desire as I watched this new generation replicate the steps, and I just had to do what I always do when I get excited about something; spout about it on social media, hunt it down on YouTube, frantically search for additional material and generally try and stay high on it for as long as I can. I suppose it’s kind of like a bipolar buzz, as I get obsessed, very verbose and am very glad I’m alone and not getting on people’s nerves too much.

This time I found out where Pharrell got his inspiration from, a young woman called Northern Soul Girl who ended up dancing on stage with him, presumably by way of reward. I’ve watched this video at least ten times, on my iPad in my room, greedily imbibing her cuteness, skill, confidence, youth and choice of music with my eyes, wishing that somehow, some way I could go back to my teens and be just like her. Full of youth, appetite, hope, and of course happy.

Trouble was I wasn’t like that when I was young. I was either in some turbulent relationship, hiding behind some useless bloke, or, like I am now, sitting my room, alone, wishing I had the courage to live a little.  And again, if enough longing could change the past, I’d be back there, on the dance floor, swirling, twirling, taking my courage in both hands and making myself accepted by them.

But it’s too late.

That said, tomorrow is another day.

Today I went for an induction at a local mental health charity, and I’m going back to try and work for a day next week.

On the negative side, the stress of putting myself out there exhausted me, hence bailed on what I was meant to be doing tonight.

But tomorrow?

Tomorrow I dance.

And I will, if only for a couple of hours, feel like a room without a roof.

I may even get lucky! 😉

Namaste x



For those of you who like your Valentines Day reading matter in a less pass-me-the-cyanide format than my last post, I give you the best version of ‘My Funny Valentine’, courtesy of the incomparable Chaka Khan.

There! Thought I’d forgotten you, didntcha!

Big love one and all xx



Tony Hadley was on breakfast TV this morning, promoting his new whatever, and because it is Valentines Day, they played out with Spandau Ballet’s iconic, romantic hit single “True”.

And as always, I turned it off. Not because I’m single/lonely/bitter and twisted.

It’s because, for me hearing that song always reminds me of the day that love died.

My Mum didn’t love me. I know that much is true. Well if she did, I certainly couldn’t feel it, and she definitely didn’t like or approved of me. For most of the years we were together we were at loggerheads because I knew in my gut that I wasn’t what she wanted or expected, and the fact that she blatantly favoured my sister.

Hence the memory of our time together is peppered and scarred by her inherent disgust and excoriating criticism of me, my desperate attempts to force her to love me, my bruising, bloodied war with my sister, and throughout it all, my Mum telling me she loved me as much as her when interrogated, hissing her affirmations through gritted teeth, her eyes shining with impatience and hatred, and my howls of anguish at the unfairness and loneliness of it all.

So after years of being eaten away by cancer, on the day I was told that she had died, I had to be pinned to the floor by my cousin, such was my pain, rage, sorrow and defiance at God for tearing her from me before her time, before she made me feel like I really mattered.

Then, in a matter of minutes, something inside me went cold and impervious.  I got up, dried my tears, absorbed my rage within myself, and did the dutiful daughter thing.

I cleaned up, organised the funeral, baked for the wake, bought something black and severe to match my charred bubbling fury, and put her in the ground.  And on that day, when my father finally told me he loved me, I looked at him coldly and thought ‘No, you don’t.  You’re just scared of being without her’.

And that was the week that “True” was number one in the charts.   Also, flying high was New Wave/Punk artist Joe Jackson with his album Night and Day which my sister played incessantly, especially the particularly delightful and timely track “Cancer” (or was that me?  I honestly can’t remember), so what with the radio playing Spandau every hour, and my or my sister’s perverse choice of music de jour, the two tracks merged into some sort of twisted mash up, which went:

‘Everything gives you cancer, uh oh oh, OH uh, there’s no cure, there’s no answer, I know this much is true….’

And I hated them, I hated her, I hated him, and I especially hated HER, but most of all, I hated myself.  And to be honest?  If I’d have known you during that dark, endless, excruciating week, I’d have probably hated you too.

No offence 😦

You wouldn’t have noticed though.  You would just have seen a haughty, thin, distant Easter Island statue of a girl with the closed off, haunted eyes of someone far older than her nineteen years.

You still wouldn’t have wanted to be around me though.  You would have sensed the poison, the badness, the ugliness, the faults and the failings.  Because if my own Mother couldn’t love me, there must have been something fundamentally wrong with me.

Over thirty years have passed since that day, and over the decades and via painful experience, I know more and I know better.  For the most part. But that hasn’t stopped my self loathing sabotaging every relationship I ever had, and every potential relationship from growing into something to treasure.

When people said ‘You have to love yourself  before anyone else can love you’ I would think ‘Bollocks.’  Plenty of good looking, rich, famous, successful, sexy fuck ups have found someone to love them and be with them.  Or at least that’s how it appears from the outside looking in.

I do however think it’s the only way forward for me.  Because if you love yourself, at least someone loves you. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to let more love into my life if/when I get there.

Valentine’s Day isn’t usually a biggie for me.  I’m not one of those women who bemoans my singleness, sends myself flowers/cards/chocolates to prove to others that I’m loveable, or acknowledge/celebrate it by going to an anti Valentines event, something I’ve always found bemusing.

I have bigger fish to fry.

My salvation doesn’t depend on another homosapien with a penis.

It’s down to me.

So today, I’ll mostly be doing loving things for myself.  Nurturing my mind, body and soul, and opening my scarred and battered heart and soul to the possibility that it is not too late to love and be loved, in all of it’s aspects, guises and manifestations, and I invite you to do the same.

As, whether you are single or not, there are worse things that you could do for yourself in the next 24 hours and beyond.

So I send you big love this Valentines Day and hope you are surrounded by the love of your family/friends/partner, and most of all the love of that spark of light that ignites and dwells within us all.

Namaste x





OK, I this is going to be a bit negative.  I KNOW I’m supposed to be trying to change things for the better, but I just have to get this off my chest!

Today, I let yet another friend go.

The way I see it, this person wasn’t really much of a friend, I wasn’t seeing them at all as they’ve been avoiding me like a dose of herpes, so the fact that I gave them a hearty push toward the door marked EXIT was only un-delaying the inevitable as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve lost a lot of friends this way. Some might say I should shut my gob, hang tough and wait for things to change when someone lets me down, but I seem to have a complete and total intolerance for insincerity and bullshit, coupled with a total inability to keep quiet when I encounter it, which doesn’t bode well for any fair-weather, bullshit toting ‘friend’.

In order to tell both sides of the story, I have to inform you that this friend has had a bad time of things of late, BUT even though she’d kept me at arms length long before her stuff hit the fan, I made sure she knew that I was there if she needed me and helped her both emotionally and practically when the going got tough.  In return, both before and after these incidents, I heard nothing from her.  Not even at Christmas or on my birthday.

So today when I contacted her to suggest we meet up, she fobbed me off, offloaded to me on the phone as per usual, and asked me a perfunctory ‘So how are you?’ right towards the end of the ‘conversation’.  When I told her I was up and down as usual, to save her listening to my woes, she started lecturing me about how I was wasting my life.  I told her that it was not my choice to be this way and that I had an illness, but she continued to spray me with her ignorant, arrogant, uninformed volley of verbal effluent, so I quickly brought the call to a close before I lost my temper.

She then proceeded to lecture me via text with regard to my pulling myself together, telling me very helpfully I only have one life, I’m master of my own fate and only I can change things for myself, to do ‘happy’ things, get out into the world, the aforementioned globe was my crustacean, be happy, take each day as it comes, light at the end of the tunnel, blah, blah, cliche, cliche, bullshit, bullshit.

I seethed.  But I managed to hold it together.

Then she made the fatal mistake of following this pile of shite with another text saying ‘I wish I knew how to help’.


So I told her.

I told her that those times I’d contacted her in the last three months inviting her to do stuff with me was me trying to, albeit rather unsuccessfully, get myself out there, but despite her previous assertions of being ‘there for me’, she did not make the time to be by my side.

I told her that I had recently been diagnosed BPD before Christmas and the reason that she didn’t know this is that the one and only time we’d spoken since, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.  As per usual.  I’m not kidding.  In 2012 when I walked out of my job it took three meet ups for me to inform her of that, as she never shuts the fuck up long enough to let me speak.

I told her that lecturing me is NOT helpful as it frustrates me, especially when she talks such a load of wank, and that her monthly period downer is not in any way comparable to how I feel, even on a good day, as on the depression scale, it is like a mosquito bite compared to being torn apart by a shark.

I then told her that the most helpful thing of all for people with mental health issues is to do what I do for her; which is to LISTEN without comment, judgement or prejudice and to be there.

I then finished by saying that it’s obvious that she doesn’t can’t really cope with/tolerate my friendship right now, so I was going to stop trying to get her to do stuff with me and leave her be.  And maybe, just maybe we’d touch base later on in the year.  But that would be down to her.  Not me.

Right now I feel like I usually feel when I’ve dumped someone.  Satisfied, a bit smug, and full of self righteous indignation. But I know one day I’ll regret it, and will be pleased that I’ve kind of left the door, if not wide open, but slightly ajar.

After all, no one is perfect.


But I’m so fed up of these Paper Doll Pals who call themselves your friend, claim to be accepting and supportive of your condition (mental illness is very ‘right on’ nowadays, doncha know), but will actually do anything to avoid seeing you, and if they absolutely have to, will come mob handed, and talk at you with a jittery, staccato delivery, just in case you utter a word, which could lead to you drowning them with your tears, ranting at them like a maniac, foaming at the mouth and showing them up in front of that cute waiter in Carluccios.

This is particularly galling, as it’s very rare that I offload on anyone, and if I do it’s when I’m in control so the dialogue is conversational, analytical and usually in response to the other person’s questions.  I’ve never dared let anyone see me on my darkest days, cos if they’re like this at the mere awareness of my condition, they’d probably run from the room screaming if they saw me at my worst, buried under my duvet, crusty eyed and gummy mouthed, willing myself to die rather than face the world again.

For anyone reading this who has mental health issues, or is close to someone who has, you know yourself that we aren’t always easy to be around.  We’re not always reliable.  We cancel a lot, to spare you seeing us when we’re sick.  We can be a bit fuzzy depending on our med intake at that time.  But on the plus side, we’re usually witty, creative, intelligent, empathic, have integrity, and if someone is lucky enough to be a real friend to us, well in return, you will not find a more loyal, empathic, supportive pal, even if you try.

We are flesh and blood, body, mind AND spirit, and will be there for you in every capacity we can and will stay strong, even when you yourself cannot.  We will not flutter away, flapping crazily like the Paper Doll Pals of this world when the wind blows a little.  Come rain, sleet, snow or shine, if we are well, we will be there, braced against the wind, face scrunched against the onslaught, because we value your friendship more than anything in the world, because you are rare and all the more precious for that.

Want to know how to be a friend to someone with mental health issues?

Listen on those rare occasions that we want to confide in you.  Hide your embarrassment if you can as that will only make us clam up and feel mortified that we are impacting you this way.   

Be there.  Bodily.  As in, in the same room!  And if you can’t be there bodily, be present in the best way you can. ‘Cos sending a text saying you love someone when you can’t be bothered to drive five minutes down the road to be with them is untruthful and insulting.  Spare us your bullshit purlease, we have enough to deal with, thank you.  Once, many years ago when i was having a killer migraine, my sister knelt beside my bed and held my hand for hours.  Practicality wise, it didn’t help.  Her hand and arm got in the way as I twisted, turned, wept and groaned trying to find comfort and respite.  But her and it’s continual presence reminded me that I wasn’t alone. That someone who cared was there, suffering alongside me.  And I still remember it to this day.

Be normal with us!  You don’t need to gaze moonily into our eyes and ask ‘How are you?’ nodding sadly, squeezing our hand at our response, as personally, I’d likely to throw up, laugh or take the piss out of you mercilessly. Just be the same sarky bitch/jerk/clown you always are in real life as that’s why we love you in the first place.  Plus it will, no doubt help us from going under, so tip toeing around us doesn’t do us any favours.  You being you, enables us to be who we are, at our best.  And we’ll tell you if we’re feeling off, OK?

Don’t preach or make suggestions unless we ask for them. There is nothing rational about mental illness.  We know that going to the gym, doing voluntary work, meeting new people can be beneficial. But for a lot of the time, despite good intentions, we just aren’t able to do the best for ourselves, because a lot of us are afraid, neurotic, paranoid and/or hate ourselves.  if however you’re doing something yourself, offer to drag your nutty pal along with you.  They might just say yes, and you’d be doing them a massive favour.

Be honest.  If you have your own shit to deal with and need time alone, just tell us.  We, if anyone, will understand the most and will give you the space you need until you feel strong enough to deal with our crazy asses again.

Have I missed anything?  Please comment if I have because it’s important that people don’t treat us with kid gloves, or act like they’re in the presence of an unexploded bomb.   We’re still the same old Sista/John/Caroline/Edgar that you know and love, just a bit flawed that’s all.  Like everyone else.  Just more so.

In the meantime, I’m hoping that my therapy will start sooner rather than later, as at this rate, I might as well be on a dessert island, such is my growing isolation. 😦

As for my thin, wispy little friend, I’ll just have to see what happens to our friendship, and will let you know if she returns.

Anyway, you know what they say, don’t you?

If you love someone, let them fuck the hell off until they realise what they’ve lost and come back, with their weedy, scabby tail between their legs.

Well it goes something like that, anyway…. 😉

Namaste x




I’m guessing that all of you who have a Facebook account have created your 60 second commemorative movie and uploaded it to your page for all to admire?

I did mine today; and it was everything I expected to see.

And less.

I’ve been off line for the last few days as some dick from the water board chopped through our telephone cable, and it’s taken this for me to realise how much I rely on broadband access for…, well pretty much everything really.  Interaction, education, information, conversation, shopping, food – shit, the shock of having to go out to shop for milk was practically overwhelming!  

To be honest, I realised that I access the great outdoors about as much as someone doing time in prison, and whilst my quarters may be a tad more comfortable than the average Holloway cell, I realise that this is no way to live a life.


That said, just as I was getting geared up to getting out there and making my presence known, that little blue kiss curl on my modem, suddenly flickered, winked then glowed, and I was back on line, and like the addict that I am, I jumped on that lifeline like Lee Ryan onto, well, anyone with a pulse.

Then, today, I dared to look at my Facebook movie.  And I am not exaggerating in the slightest when I tell you that it is so pathetic, I would rather stick my tits in a mangle than upload it online.

Of course I’ve looked at everyone else’s, and have born witness to their gradual but steadily upward evolution over the last decade.  The achievements, the joys, the kids, the houses, some challenges I guess, but for the most part everyone, from what I can tell, has lived an active, successful, happy ten years overall.

Mine?  Mine is testament to a life lived small and scared, and features the things I used to do, the friends I have driven away, the people who have probably forgotten that I exist, and a montage of witty but cynical comments, and the multitude of photographs of cakes in lieu of snaps of holidays, gatherings with family/friends, and career triumphs.  And the minor triumphs I have achieved?  I didn’t share them because I was too shy/afraid to blow my own trumpet plus, I’m paranoid about people knowing my business.

And reading about the loss of Philip Seymour Hoffman and seeing all of his famous friends, it made me wonder how many of them were actually in his life.  I have more ‘friends’ than I actually want on paper, but only see a fraction of them face to face. Was it the same for him?  I know how depression and illness separates the wheat from the chaff as far as real friendship is concern, and also accept that pushing people away sometimes means they stay away, so I expect that, like me he was very, very lonely.  But hell, if I top myself, there’ll be plenty of popular, happy folk with stonking Facebook movies showing up to put me in the ground, no doubt!

Thanks guys, you rock!  NOT.

Then, on seeing Sheldon Cooper snogging the face of Amy Farrah Fowler for the very first time, and I was torn between finding it touching, amusing and downright depressing. I haven’t been kissed for about FOUR YEARS, and I have to ask, why is some (fictional) weedy, emotionally autistic, scifi geek and his long suffering, frumpy bird getting more action than me?!

The final straw was when I saw this clip of John Berlin begging the gods of Facebook for his dead son’s movie, which filled me with all kinds of emotion.

And I asked myself; if I croak tomorrow, would I want MY family to see this pathetic, 60 second ‘tribute’ to the last 10 years of my life, or am I going to make the next 10 year worth the oxygen that I take from this planet?

So I’m going to go and try and make it the latter happen.

I want there to be a point to my existence.  I want to be of use.  I want to find my clan.  I want my cottage by the sea.  I want to love and be loved in return.  

And yes, I want to be kissed with tenderness and passion.  Preferably by another human being.  Male, please, ideally.

Quite how I’m going to turn things around to such an extent I’m not sure, but I’m coming off Facebook for Lent, limiting my time on the internet and have just volunteered to do some work for a charity.

And whilst I still don’t know the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything (unless it really is 42), I do know I won’t find it sat on my arse, terrified in a South London flat, waiting until God deems that it’s OK for me to die.

Onwards and upwards.

Namaste x


Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now – I SAW YOU LOOKING AT MY TIT

Write a post entirely in the present tense.

This poem is dedicated to the young man who just did my ECG examination:


I saw you looking at my tit

You went all red, you little git

And though I should be in a snit

I am amused, I must admit


I saw you looking at my bap

My cotton robe, it had a gap

I should have given you a slap

You sneaky, cheeky little chap


You took a peek at my booby

They’re not all that, you must agree

So I am pleased you’d want to see

The honkers of old, bonkers me


I caught you looking at my tit

Young man, so virile, strong and fit

And though I should be in a snit

I’m chuffed, you fluffed up little git

Trackbacks & Pingbacks

  1. Focus | My Play Nook
  2. Daily Prompt: Now | Hot chocolate and books
  3. Everything to Everyone | momaste
  4. Like Right Now? | Buzzy Beez
  5. NOW is the Time to Pray for Victims | The Christian Gazette
  6. La Fée Verte | field of thorns
  7. Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now | Morrighan’s Muse
  8. Now | Words in Silver
  9. Write Here, Write Now | smarshmellow
  10. Write Here, Write Now | Delicious Ambiguity
  11. Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now | Storm In A B-Cup
  12. Right (Write) Now | 365 Days of Thank You
  13. Lion Tracks | Overcoming Bloglessness
  14. Anywhere but Write Here | thanks for letting me autograph your cat
  15. The How of Now | Willow’s Corner
  16. Writing Here, Writing Now | Chasing A Dream
  17. Writing Write Now | DHAltman
  18. SNOW DAY COMPLAINTS? Please rethink . . . | Writing Canvas
  19. thejimmieG
  20. The haunting song in my dreams | Right Down My Alley
  21. Now | As I See It
  22. Presque fini…je serai une héroïne ? | Forty, c’est Fantastique !
  23. The Time is…Now | Leonas Lines–Poetry Plus
  24. Say Cheeeze…. | Emovere
  25. smells of freshly-baked bread, and here i am, still writing | life and loveliness
  26. The Time is Now | Leona J. Atkinson-Inspirational Writer
  27. Let me show you my NOW | mummy flying solo
  28. The Present | L5GN
  29. Daily prompt: The alternative to Fotherington-Thomas | helen meikle’s scribblefest
  30. NOW | RedboX medicalplus
  31. Write Here and Write Now | Shetall says
  32. Write Here, Write Now | Polymathically
  33. Presently Present | Losing It
  34. Daily Prompt: Nice is….. | IvyMosquito
  35. Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now – A Nursery Rhyme | littlegirlstory
  36. Super Bowl XLVIII | Write now?
  37. Getting things in order…. | Words ‘n Pics…
  38. lit up | yi-ching lin photography
  39. If not NOW, when? | Mishe en Place
  40. Daily Prompt – Write here, Write now – Girl of no known |
  41. The Tsavo Big Game Show: it’s a dangerous pursuit | Tish Farrell
  42. After a long day!!! | sanchitasarkar
  43. Present Tense – Daily Post 29/1/14 | Sweat, Tears and Digital Ink
  44. Daily Prompt: Write Here, Write Now | Violet Skye
  45. when and.. |
  46. Path | kaffechai
  47. Right here. Right now. | Love.Books.Coffee.
  48. My Experience on A Flight Yesterday. Write a Post in the Present Tense | Angela McCauley
  49. After a long day!!! | Myriad Notions
  50. White Picket Fence | asweetbrightthing