Double Magnum (aka The Daless Inaugural Writing Retreat)


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The Bike Shed, The Brodie Literary Gathering and Daless Farm Writing Retreat

Dani, Lynne and Amanda read their work at The Bike Shed last night as part of the SMHAF and they were wonderful. The Bike Shed are now going to host regular open mic events and I hope at least some of you will consider reading your wonderful poems, stories and essays. One of the most enjoyable things about last night was the richness of culture being embraced and adored. This is surely one of the reasons we write? Because it is culturally important or inherent within us, to tell stories, play music and re-enact our lives in creative expression. I do not wish to see storytelling die out, I want to create poets so that our children’s children still know the heart breaking joy of the spoken word.
HUG and other local mental health projects are going to apply for funding so that I can bring you theses classes for free. Until that time comes, I am reducing the price in the hope of attracting more people. I am also cutting the class from 3 hours to 2. AND, we are going to start at the beginning again, with switching off, learning to free-write and then shaping the stuff of our free-writes.
If you are interested in this, please sign up, book by paying on line and send me a sample of work that you would like to work on. (When sending work, please put your name on the top and use docx or pdf or pages)
That’s £80 (for 4 workshops, plus one critique a week) to be paid to Miss Orla P Broderick (please ask for bank details)
We have the makings of a committee for the Brodie Literary Gathering and I would like to invite anyone who may be interested in getting together on a Friday, to join us at The Old Mill in Brodie, by Forres. This is a beautiful relaxed venue where you can practise reading your work or discussing ideas with fellow writers. If we form a committee, then we can apply for funding for author and poet events. We have been meeting at 5.30 on a Friday, if this time suits the majority? I am more than happy to teach whatever you need at Brodie, as required. Hopefully, we will concentrate on self publishing, and then use this venue to launch your novels!
Daless Farm Writing Retreat
Instead of the wild wild writing on the Isle of Skye, we are going to an ancestral pile deep in the Nairnshire hills. It is truly tranquil. You will be immersed in Nature for three days with fully tutored writing workshops, vegan food and wonderful company. That happens at midsummer and there is space for another dozen folks. You can contact me in the first instance but I am not actually organising it – Napier and Dani will be your hostess and host respectively and they will want to know your needs and wants so as to make your retreat as comfortable as possible. I think the cost is about £200, but Napier will provide these details on request. There are photographs of the magnificent house and surroundings on my Council House Publishing Facebook page if you wish to take a peek!

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The sin of the shed door

In droplets of hot pink pustules, the psoriasis returns with her pal the red itchy flaky eczema and I know I shouldn’t moan, I was taught early in childhood that you offered these physical ailments up for your sins.
And so The Hail Mary in Irish trips around my head, because that is still my default setting. ‘S’e do breatha, a Mhuire ata lan de grasta, ta an Tiarna leat…’ Illness, aches, pains, cuts, bruises were all met with the same response from my Mother, who had experienced much worse than any other Earthling and could offer ne’er a drop of compassion to her eldest.
As a child I wondered what my sin was. Today, I wonder what my sin is.
In this instance, it appears to be my shed door, or my attitude towards it.
Last week I was attacked and accosted SIX times by three different people, in relation to my shed door.
I was sitting here, in this spot, in this chair, enjoying the sun of a bank holiday weekend when a man I had never seen before walked past and as he did, he slammed shut the shed door.
It took me a second to comprehend. But yes, he really did do that. I got up and went to the door and opened it again. I thought about going after him, but I was in pyjamas with tits hanging out, hair wilder than a bush and actually, I smelled bad too, so I sat back down again.
He came back. he marched back down the lane and he banged the shed door shut again. So, I heaved my huge smelly bed-head body out into the lane and beside the man.
“I want that door kept shut” he said. “My wife and I are going to rip it off its hinges and hit you over the back of the head with it. You are inconveniencing your neighbours*and you must be stopped.” (*neighbour= holiday home owner)
“That is my wood pile in there. I have no insulation in my home and am reliant on two wood burning stoves. I cannot afford to lose a ton of wood. It is drying. The Police, the Community warden, the fire brigade and the local community councillor have all inspected the shed door and they all agree it does not restrict anyone’s access. You will need to get a solicitor and take this matter up with my landlady. While you’re at it, please mention that we need insulation.”
He became incensed. I tried to film him on my phone but my fingers are too fat and clunky so I failed.
“You are in a dark place” he said “I feel sorry for you, you poor excuse for a human. You hate us all don’t you and you have a persecution complex so you are trying to be as mean as you can. You don’t need that wood, this is about your sad pathetic life.”
I walked away with heart pounding.
I hate bullies. I do my very best to keep away from Screamie Wimmin, malicious gossips and bullies. Yet, they keep coming. I have had six months of bullies and attacks by bullies. I have a fear and dread of intimidation, which stems from the manner in which my mother would speak to me. I have sought help for this many times but because I have no mental health problem (yes, you read that right, I am certifiably sane) I cannot access the NHS psychotherapy department and I cannot afford the treatment privately.
He came back two days later. I prayed the Hail Mary again. I stood up and approached him holding out my hand
“My name is Orla Broderick and I really do not like the manner in which you talk to me. The shed door is none of your business. Please leave it alone.”
“You have no control in your sad pathetic life and so you are trying to control your neighbours. You have no one and everyone hates you so this is your only way of gaining attention.”
If I follow his line of thinking, then I have to consider his accusations (and the accusations of the other assholes) are a construct for their own projections. Somehow, for some unknown reason these men (there are 4 in total who complain about the blue shed door) either want to control me or want to be controlled by me. Is this rape culture and the evil of todays porn industry spilling over into my quiet lane? Is this the end of patriarchy? Why do three grown men wish to influence the manner in which I live?
And then it occurred to me. I do control them. They have to slow down as they pass my house. They have to see me, my bulk, my tits hanging out, my garden a kids’ delight, my home a haven for the gentle – and it frightens them.
Missus Bossy Blackbird has taken control. She has built a nest in there, on the shelf. She sits on the door and refuses to allow any bird, cat or dog near her shed. She has attacked seagulls, drawn blood from the crow and dive bombed my cat.
I try not to scratch. But I cannot stop laughing.

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Ft. Laramie Treaty Gathering at Ft. Laramie Wy May 4-6, 2018

This gallery contains 6 photos.

Strong Heart Warrior Society of the Independent Lakota Nation attends the Ft. Laramie Treaty Gathering & “Celebration” from May 4 to May 6.  Video of the event on the way. ?

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Passive Aggressive Bullying

I have a great deal to say on this subject. From Screamie Wimmin wot attack for no reason to lovers demanding sex, I have tons of stories, history, tales, wisdoms, anecdotes, spiritual journeys, epiphanies and heartache. Some see me as some sort of victim, a too-weird woman with no roots; a rootless tree. Others fear my honesty. Some just want to fuck.
Passive aggressive bullying takes many forms. Where I live, it appears to manifest in a systemic malicious gossip plus action type of way. It is not unusual for my bins to suddenly appear at the top of my lane, blocking access. The last time this happened, I was away at Moniack Mhor, but the culprit did not know that. It is not unusual for me to receive defamatory emails, and, similarly, it is not unusual for me to be invited to join some random couple for sex, or even be stalked, for someone else’s sexual excitement.
I have two wood stoves. I store the wood in the shed. The shed door opens onto the lane. The shed door does not block, or impede access or have any negative affect on anyone. The shed has been there, with the same door, for over one hundred years. An old man used to live in that shed, only fifty years ago. My neighbours complain about the shed door. I have no idea how to react to them. I did think for a while I was losing my mind and needed psychiatric care, but the shrink said I was bloody normal, and I did want to sip gin, topless, in my garden, in the lane, where they pass, but my friend Charlotte told me not to. I had an idea to plant snowdrops in the potholes, to slow down their cars, but Charlotte laughed, so I didn’t.
Instead, I did this. It’s all I know. It is probably as passive aggressive as the complainers, but I am not sure I care anymore….

The Blue Shed Door by Orla Broderick

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Thank you Amanda

via Your Inner Writer: Creative Writing Workshops

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