Lost Apostrophe – the Diary of a Writing Group
by Rosalie Warren
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: EPISODE FOURTEEN: February 2015 – Eva
Swearwords: None.
Description: EPISODE FOURTEEN: February 2015 – Eva
Two people missing last night – Rud and Miri. Bit worried, to be honest, about them both. I so much want to ring Rud before I go to the playgroup, but he’ll be at work, stretched out under a car at Jim’s garage, all oily and unable to answer his phone. No, I’ll leave it. He told Julianne he had a headache. Julianne swallowed that one, but I know Rud well enough to know he never gets headaches. Christchurch, hope he doesn’t think he’s too good for us, now he’s got an agent. Nah, he’d never think like that, our Rud.
I’ll call him at lunchtime. But perhaps Marie..? – need to find out what’s going on there. Last time I saw her in the shop she looked as pale as… well, very pale, no time to faff about with similes just now. Is she pregnant? Had my suspicions for a while, but surely… No, she wouldn’t tell us, not necessarily. Why would she – we’re a writing group, after all, not the Samaritans or whatever. Hope she’s got someone she can talk to, if need be. Friends from university, maybe – though she never speaks about them. She mentions those sisters – thought at first she meant ordinary sisters, in a family, but it turned out to be some kind of religious thing, maybe Catholic, not sure – anyway sisters as in nuns… can’t see nuns being very understanding, if she’s up the duff, but what do I know?
She’s not answering. I’ll try one more time. Got to set off in two minutes. I’ll send a text – pretend it’s about… what? Oh I know – the idea that Corinna came up with last night. The Midsummer Retreat. Yes, I’ll say I’m just letting her know, in case she wants to think about possible dates and can she tell Julianne, if she’s interested, that is. OK… let’s see, here we go.
No reply, so I’ll have to try again after work. Must get myself sorted now. Got to have another rehearsal with the children today for the Mother’s Day concert at the school. Gorblimington – whatever made me think I could get two- to four-year-olds to perform in front of the parents, singing one of my crazy poems to the tune of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’? And I’ve had to change the words to make it inclusive, because two of the kids don’t have mothers at all, not ones who look after them at home, anyway. Not easy to add something to the effect of ‘Dad or other caring adult’ without wrecking the scansion. These are the perils of modern life. Better than the old days, though. I remember the little boy – Jonathan, I think his name was – in my class at Sunday School. The stupid teacher, who should have known better, got us making Mother’s Day cards in class and when the poor little thing mentioned his mum had died a few weeks ago, she just said, ‘Oh well, perhaps you can make a card for your auntie or your grandma or some other lady you love.’ Said with such sensitivity (not) – I can see his face to this day, poor little lad. She must have known he’d lost his mother – she was an elder or whatever they used to call them, must have been at the funeral, almost certainly. Some things are better now than they used to be – I’d certainly never upset a child like that, though we’re none of us perfect, I suppose.
Anyway, I’d better be on my way. Wonder what became of little Jonathan?
I’ll call him at lunchtime. But perhaps Marie..? – need to find out what’s going on there. Last time I saw her in the shop she looked as pale as… well, very pale, no time to faff about with similes just now. Is she pregnant? Had my suspicions for a while, but surely… No, she wouldn’t tell us, not necessarily. Why would she – we’re a writing group, after all, not the Samaritans or whatever. Hope she’s got someone she can talk to, if need be. Friends from university, maybe – though she never speaks about them. She mentions those sisters – thought at first she meant ordinary sisters, in a family, but it turned out to be some kind of religious thing, maybe Catholic, not sure – anyway sisters as in nuns… can’t see nuns being very understanding, if she’s up the duff, but what do I know?
She’s not answering. I’ll try one more time. Got to set off in two minutes. I’ll send a text – pretend it’s about… what? Oh I know – the idea that Corinna came up with last night. The Midsummer Retreat. Yes, I’ll say I’m just letting her know, in case she wants to think about possible dates and can she tell Julianne, if she’s interested, that is. OK… let’s see, here we go.
No reply, so I’ll have to try again after work. Must get myself sorted now. Got to have another rehearsal with the children today for the Mother’s Day concert at the school. Gorblimington – whatever made me think I could get two- to four-year-olds to perform in front of the parents, singing one of my crazy poems to the tune of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’? And I’ve had to change the words to make it inclusive, because two of the kids don’t have mothers at all, not ones who look after them at home, anyway. Not easy to add something to the effect of ‘Dad or other caring adult’ without wrecking the scansion. These are the perils of modern life. Better than the old days, though. I remember the little boy – Jonathan, I think his name was – in my class at Sunday School. The stupid teacher, who should have known better, got us making Mother’s Day cards in class and when the poor little thing mentioned his mum had died a few weeks ago, she just said, ‘Oh well, perhaps you can make a card for your auntie or your grandma or some other lady you love.’ Said with such sensitivity (not) – I can see his face to this day, poor little lad. She must have known he’d lost his mother – she was an elder or whatever they used to call them, must have been at the funeral, almost certainly. Some things are better now than they used to be – I’d certainly never upset a child like that, though we’re none of us perfect, I suppose.
Anyway, I’d better be on my way. Wonder what became of little Jonathan?
About the Author
Rosalie Warren was once a university lecturer, specialising in Artificial Intelligence and Natural Language Processing. But her earliest love was books and stories, and since taking early retirement ten years ago she has been following her dream of writing and publishing. For details of her publications for adults and children, including science fiction and romantic suspense, see http://srg521.wix.com/mybooks and https://www.facebook.com/RosalieWarrenAuthor/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/
Rosalie has been an exile from Scotland for the past fourteen years, but still has many happy memories of the wonderful city of Edinburgh, where her children were born and raised, and of the equally amazing Dundee, where she worked for a further three years. Going back even further, she was born and brought up in Yorkshire, and regularly returns there to visit a seaside place not so very different from the town of Castlehaven in her serial.
Rosalie is also a qualified proofreader and editor and (under the name Sheila Glasbey) her editing services can be found at http://www.affordable-editing.com/