Simplifying...

Okay guys, you've probably noticed I've been neglecting this blog for it's more visual counterpart. It's been coming for a while, but I've finally decided to move everything over to Take THAT Life!, it seemed silly keeping the pictures and words separate like this, and I simply don't have the time anymore to manage two.
I won't be deleting Little Miss Scribble, it'll stay, and I'm not going to bury it, there just won't be any more new stuff from now on.
Oh, and there's a new short story on Take THAT Life! to celebrate the move over, it's called Dust.

It's been fun guys.

Cheers, L.

Tanith's Escapades- Reality Ninjas.

The dog-eared post-it note remained stubbornly adhered to Tomas's desk until Saturday, when he walked in to find it had fluttered to the floor, settling on a small stack of x-box games. It was faded now, but the messy scrawl upon it remained. He bent, curly orange hair falling over his crooked frown, to pick it up, unsure exactly what to do with it, and read the words again:

Tom,

The reality ninjas visited,
I'm sorry.
You don't have to reply,

Tan.

Halfway through the motion of scooping up the note, Tomas froze. He stood very still for a moment, then in a burst of anger swung a kick that sent the pile scattering in all directions across the room.
Tomas straightened slowly and took a breath, shaking the hair from his eyes.
Things were not going well.

-
Copyright Leah Petts 2010

Linguistically Related Pet Peeve #1

The nineties were fun, I'm sure, the grunge was a nice touch. I grew up in the nineties after all... However when I decided to read up on some of the poetry from that decade, I came up short. Not as in there was none to be found, (there was an abundance clamouring for my attention) literally as in one-word stanzas and a complete disregard for rhyme and meter.

Yes, I get it.. you are all free spirits, non-conformists without answer to anyone... but then why the heck do you all write in the same, dry, unimaginative monotone, I ask?

Now, admittedly I'm a free-verse poet myself, but I've just one point to make here, poets of the nineties..

Writing it
in
short
lines won't
make
it
poetry, darnit.

To critique the poetry of my childhood decade... what IS this shit?

Trains.

Just a short story I wrote on holiday... enjoy!

-
Trains.

I have to change trains here, at this station, one country train to another. I wrap my palms around the cardboard cup and sip my coffee; it is warm and familiar and settles easily into my stomach. I quietly ask myself again why I am going back there, to all the things I wish I could forget.
The people jostled, the pressing bodies struggling against each other for seats. I am calmly pushed toward a window seat on the last carriage. I do not mind. Within seconds the train has clackered and shifted forward, shrugging its way to my destination, and further again.
I pick at the acidic-smelling fabric of my seat and stare at my shoes. The floor is dusty. It smells dusty.
The rain pattered on the window in a hollow sort of way, as if trying to tell me that we were in this together, it and I, that somehow, the rain was lost too. I found myself inclined to believe it; in the same way a person can hear without listening, look without seeing.

For the thousandth time I wondered where you are now, my little Jericho… Do you remember when you were little? I would take you on the trains all the time
Are we going to the place with the yellow windows?
You’d ask me, smiling. You smiled so much back then, your lips stretching like great pink gashes of mirth from one proud cheekbone to the other. Your face was made to smile…
I must have blinked, to find the country sifting past my window had transitioned into dense city-central without my notice. I glance at my watch, half an hour is missing: of course I had fallen asleep; there was nothing else to do.

I focus my attention an the window again, my eyes pour into the cityscape, beneath it’s glassy façade, thinking about construction and composition, of great iron girders and the smooth, drum-tight skin around your eyes when you were angry. Jericho, Jericho, Jericho, Jericho… your name was so bitter in my mouth… though it only made your eyes so shockingly sweeter.
Before long I am so absorbed in this daydream that I do not notice the train stop at some quickly forgotten station.
I am not looking as the doors hiss-clatter-hiss open, giving a tiny window to a cluttered, sunlit little platform, quaint and endearing in its namelessness.
People file on, and people file off the train, though more the latter; I hear her shuffle her feet as she takes her seat, two down, across, and facing me.

I have not looked at her yet, but she is rustling around in her satchel, I can hear the mild protests of leather and canvas and ragged fingernails clicking against each other. The doors shut with another hiss-clatter-hiss and a suction of air puckers through our cabin, it is neither warm nor cold. People shift, and the brushes of air bring their vague, muddled scents to me, leaning against my window.
She smells of flowers and piss.
Just like you.
It startles me, so I finally look at her. She is sitting with her tongue between her teeth, her thumb tracing circles on her iPod as she chooses a song; though her earphones are not in, hanging superfluously from the zipper of her pale blue hoody. A half-eaten lollipop nestles awkwardly between her fingers, and I wonder why I hadn’t smelled it, but really could not care less.
I want to tell her about you, my little Jericho, I ache to tell her how we found that dead fox in the blackberry patch that summer; how we carried it all the way home to show Grandpa there was another fox den nearby; even though the stiff, weeping corpse reeked like nothing else on earth.

In my mind, I imagine a whole conversation with her; she reminds me so much of you, Jericho, and that’s what we talk about, mostly; she says things like how she would’ve liked to meet you, ect.
And the conversation would go on, back and forth, until she asks me where I am going today; and it will stick in my throat like a mouthful of lead and mercury, until I can finally whisper,
I am going to the place with the yellow windows.

-
(for a sketch of Jericho, click Here)

Character Development...

The Diera (Dee-air-rah) Files..

I've been working on a fantasy character, Diera, for over four years now... she's been a hard nut to crack, but like with most complicated characters, I've often found sketching her works.

When you have a drawing of a character, you can imagine better how their face would change with emotion: does thier face contort or squinch-up when they're angry? would they narrow their eyes or raise an eyebrow to convey suspicion? Are they an honest person, or do they wear a mask??!

I know they say "don't judge a book by it's cover" but it's scary just how much more of your character's personality you can flesh out by simply considering their profile....

Unfortunately, I have long lost my origional (first EVER) sketch of Diera from 3 years ago, in which she is 14 years old... In this origional drawing, Diera had brown-tinted skin, green eyes, and long hair.

Compare this discription to a drawing of her from the start of this year when, in a flash of inspiration, I saw her picking apples with her childhood friend Ayomi. I took this profile of Diera as a child, and composed this sketch, in which she is 9:

(sometimes I like to imagine Ayomi sitting under the tree quietly sketching this, while Diera darted around after the fruit-birds)

Her eyes are still green, at this point in the development of her character, but it was from this image I moved away from the solemn, serious Diera with the darker skin, pointed chin and a narrow face to a more wild, adventure-seeking character; in this version, she has a much wider face and higher forehead, which was a gigantic step on the way to the Diera I work with today.

Below is my most recent Diera sketch, which unlike the previous ones is set DURING the major events of the story (at 17 years of age), rather than before:

I drew alot of this from the previous chlid-drawing, trying to find what definition her face would gain over 7-and-a-half years, and came up with a stronger jaw and brow-ridge, for the determination she has gained over those years.

.

In homage to her mother (whose identity i will keep as my big secret!) she now has fiery golden eyes:

>>

At first I thought her eyes might change with the onset of puberty, but then decided that was a silly notion, and that for her to be born with the golden eyes of an eagle would mark her as the wild, spirited creature she would always be... and what better basis for a prophecy (or doom!) than a child with eyes like that?!

.

This is the Diera I currently work with. A full, true character... nowadays I greet her like an old friend- though the miles she has to run, I'm afraid, are only beggining!

.

.

All for now then,

This is little miss scribble, signing off!

-

Satirical, Lyrical, Dilemma Debateable...

...I wish you'd share with me the rhythm,
that shocking prose held so tightly in your fist...

This post will be the normal ramblings, occasionally interrupted by bits of lyric from a song I'm not sure I'm writing. it's easier to write them down, this way I get feedback (occasionally), and because then I can analyse all the

...cadences of speech,
I liked you, you didn't chatter like the rest...

I tend to get too caught up in the melody, or finding chords or baselines and such, when I'm writing a song, I love words, second nature as they are, and it really bugs me when I end up sacrificing the poetry for the rhythm because I wasn't paying enough

...attention to detail,
you held me back, made me watch,
and I saw that to all the rest the bigger picture was lost...

So I get to the point where I just lay aside the trusty guitar to do some serious poetry, a dilemma in itself because eventually, (you guessed 'er chester!) you have to go running back to the guitar to check the syllables in this line or that line, it can be really

...frustration,
a truth you never spared;
a lie breaks something, a truth makes something,
that's what made you more beautiful than all the rest....

...but I liked you,
even though you told them all where they could stick it,
you taught me how to think
for myself,
and nobody else but you could've tripped all the tricks and...

Yes, it's confusing and a little weird, but hey, whatever works I suppose.. each to their own and all that jazz.
May you all find your literary niche in whatever peculiar, kooky way works for you.
(Oh, and Madeline and the Giant Ferret of Love was an epic fail, by the way... fun though, and that's what counts!)

If you all promise to be good, if these lyrics go anywhere I'll post the proper song at a later date, (perhaps even a recording, depending on what we're doing in VET Music this term and whether I'll have access to the equiptment or not)

Free Hugs For Every-One!
smiles, Leah Mae :)

Eating Nouns, Shitting Adjectives.

In keeping with it's peculiar trend of messing with my sleeping patterns, Inspiration struck at goddess-knows-what AM, and as a result I'm currently in the middle of a short story entitled "Madeline & the Giant Ferret of Love", it will most likely be too long to post, as it's a good page-and-a-half already, and while has all the earmarks of a short story, I can't for the life of me think of an ending.
Picture this:
You fall asleep under your desk and awake to find your apartment has morphed into a cave of sorts, after you've suitably calmed down from the resulting freak-out, you are greeted by a giant ferret with messy fur the colour of "a newborn dipped in onion-soup".
It introduces itself as "the Giant Ferret of Love" and proceeds to mistake your name for "Mad-Ellen"

.....So what now? I was coasting on inspiration and hit a brick wall... WHAMM!

I have my setting, characters (will probably end up with more later), setting... But I don't have an event... though a visit from a giant ferret could arguably be an event in itself, I can't have my characters sit around twiddling their thumbs and playing monopoly for another two pages.
Drat it, they'll have to get up off their behinds and DO something, we make our characters earn their existance, no doubt about that, but thinking up their list of chores is quite nearly as taxing as doing the chores themselves...

Gah, inspiration is so volatile!
It gobbles down your nouns and verbs, and tommorow you dissapointedly flush the adjectives down with a yellow wash of oxymorons, if you're not careful. too much of good inspiration is turned into tripe by lazy people who can't be bothered putting in the hard yards to make it something.
Thats the answer, in the end. hard work.
Put work into your words, even if they don't flow easily, and the story you get is the story you earned.

It'll be tea with Madeline for me in any case,
Let you know how it turns out, if its an epic fail... well, you'll probably find out anyway,

a-rollin' up the sleeves,
Leah Mae. :)

The Last Hippie

This little poem goes against most of my writing habits, as it is an environmental cry-out: and while I feel strongly on the subject; Poetry should not have to have a message or reason! -doing so quite nearly undermines the purpose of poetry in fact- and it saddens me greatly that this one should need to be.
-
-
The Last Hippie.

He sits, entwined
In the branches of the last tree
Of metropolis.

This is his place
To breathe, a memory of the tranquil,
Shrouded in chaos,

Like a faded
Photograph, alien to the gaudy lights
Of the city.

An apology, he clings
To the ancient boughs, bark rough under
Tired hands.

Branches spread skyward,
As tactile fingers, and all he can taste is
The sorrow.

They two,
Last of a kind, there was never room
For failure.

With a pistol cocked
To his mouth, forgiveness is begged,
Tomorrow, the diggers come.

There will be no last stand.
-
© Leah Petts 13.09.2009

Tanith's Escapades- some good reasons why keyboards can't scream.

Once again, Tanith was in one of her moods, one could almost argue Tanith was always in one of her moods- not to her face, of course, but there you go;
Erin now had more confidence than a Diva, thanks to Tom's quick thinking and a screaming match with Shannon that effectivley slammed the gate shut on Tanith's any hope of sitting on the fence- not that there'd been any doubt in her mind over sides anyway.
..This is how things were with Tanith, there were never really any shades of grey.

As for right now,
She rubbed her tired eyes and jabbed at the keyes indifferently, the LCD screen flickered and an instant message popped up:
"Hey Tan, its Tom- havent talked to you in a while: ev'rything ok?"
Tanith scowled at the screen and flicked off the computer without bothering to shut it down. In truth, she wasn't sure why she still wasn't talking to Tomas -after all, he'd saved the day with the whole Erin thing... she just didn't have the guts to admit she was wrong. Apologies never really came easy, especially after you'd ruined something like that with blind pig-headedness.

She sat there for a while, with her cheek against the cold, grainy wood of the desk; dirty fingernails drumming mindlessly, irritatedly.
With a determined growl, Tanith suddnely leaned over to kick the bone-box into life. mechanism whirred and the monitor stirred drowsily.
With decided, almost angry strokes, Tanith wrote:
"Out of Eostrogen, next mood swing: T-minus ten minutes...."
She leaned back in the chair and waited, then
"TANITH? -heck, i didnt expect a reply; what's up?"
Her eyebrows raised in confusion and she tapped out another line, erased it all, and tried again:
"I dunno Tom, I guess I just dont know how to talk to you anymore... are we still ok?"
There was a longer pause this time, Tanith was four seconds from turning off the screen in disgust when Toms reply rippled over the monitor:
"No, not really, this is kind of hard Tan, but I dont think we'll ever be what we were... you saw to that..."
Teeth clenched, she beat her answer into the kerboard with rising desperation,
"I thought you might say that."

There was no reply, and Tanith wanted to yell: "So why'd you bother in the first place, huh?!" but of course, that would be almost as futile as her black moods.
Head in her hands, elbows on the desk, she sang to herself quietly, Oh, this is how it goooes baby, I'll get angry at your words and I'll head hoooooooome.... she trailed off at the part where the girl goes back home and says sorry.
She stared out the window, and like the proud member of Gen. Y she was, relished the misery as it slid smoothly through her veins, all whispering and irridescent.
Sometimes, the truth you get is never the truth you want, even if you did see it coming.

Biting into the sour flesh of her bottom lip; Tanith slowly, grimly crushed her own, hissing, spitting ego with a growing sense of determination and disgust.
Tommorrow. She would apologise tomorrow.

She did not want him back, -it would not have been in her nature to do so-, but she did want his forgiveness. She was not likely to get it, but for once just knowing why she did things was a good enough reason, after all, it was long overdue.

Oh, this is how it goooes babe, 'cos I'll be back before you knooow, before you know....

-
-

Tanith's Escapades- Infuriatingly Distracting...

Tanith leaned over the guitar, fingers strumming lightly. the hollow wood quivered at the sound, echoing dryly against the peeling fence.
Laying her face on the edge, Tanith could feel the music against her skin; no beat, just indistinct melody. She sat in contentment, pretending everthing was as perfect as a melody.

Gravel crunched underfoot, and a pair of scuffed blue sneakers shuffled into view. Tanith eyed the sneakers with resignation
"Hi Tan," said Tomas, testing the waters apprehensively,
"mmmmm?" it was as good a reply as any.

Tomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other in that infuriatingly distracting way of his;
"I didn't know you played guitar" -what a stupid thing to say, why did i say that??- Tom's brain fizzled it's dissaproval.
Tanith's face showed hers.
"I hardly ever do... not that you'd think to ask."

Tom looked hurt, or at least, tried to look hurt. "Look, it didn't even have anything do do with me anyway!"
"Sure" -Tanith looked unconvinced
Irritation flashed through Tom's brain- "I'm telling you, Shannon's been picking on Erin for over a month now, and you didn't even bother to notice!"

"So explain to me why she says it was you." Tanith snarled though clenched teeth

Tom was taken aback. He knew Tanith was protective of Erin, but to completely disown him because she suspected he was involved?! It was maddeness! -no,- his brain corrected him dryly, -it was "Tanith"-
Tom silently agreed, What was maddness was to try and talk to Tanith just now.

"Ask Shannon" Tom told her shortly, then turned on his heel and crunched away.

Tanith sighed and leaned into the guitar, her fingers unconsciously finding the strings.
After a minute or two of thought, Tanith pulled a sour face; She needed to have a little talk with Shannon, it seemed...

-
© Leah Petts, 26.02.2009

Tanith's Escapades- the silent battle for the shiny iPod.

Tomas absently leaned over and handed Tanith half a sandwich, full attention given to the iPod screen.
His eyes were all squinched up in the afternoon sun, and his neon hair lit up like the vegas strip under the glare.
Tanith smiled appreciatively, and took the sandwich from Tom. Her eyes not moving from the pages of her novel.

Erin sat in the tree Tom and Tan were sitting under, glad of the shade. Watching the two she Resisted the urge to grimace.
And to think those two started off practically hating each other.
She shook her head in disbelief, lost her balance, and had to steady herself by clinging desperatley onto the branch in front of her.

Tanith glanced up, squinting in the glare,
"Hey Erin, how about a little personal time eh?"
Erin giggled, and clumsily made her way down, a reply on her tongue faster than a cricketer's reation time.
"yeah yeah, i'll leave you two lovebirds alone shall I? Geez! and you wonder why i keep an eye on ya!"

Tom pulled a speaker from somewhere in his curly fluro mop and looked over at Erin
"Ta Ezza." he noted
With that Erin swished away, turning only to stick out her tongue at the two.

"hmmmm" Tanith said.
"What's 'hmm' Tan?" Tomas enquired, and Tanith made a cross-eyed face at him.
"oh, nothing" she giggled, stealing the speaker no longer in Tom's brain, and sticking it into her ear.
'Gone Away' by the Offspring blared in to her brain, and Tantih took a bite out of the sandwich.

"Um, Tom?"
Thomas shifted to face Tanith, "mmm?"
"why is the sandwhich squashed?"

Tom paused the song and took a chomp of his half of the sandwich.
"well waddaya know," he noted sarcastically "it IS squashed! but Tan, I thought you liked them squashed"

Tanith regarded him for a moment and inclined her head,
"you know me too well, Cooper"
Tom stifled a laugh, and said through a mouthful of stras-and-sauce,
"I suppose you'll just have to kill me now, I know too much!"
Tanith leaned over Tom and un-paused the song
"dont give me ideas"

Tom gently took the speaker from her ear and replaced it in his own.
"oh, don't worry, I wont."

Tanith smiled.
-

copywrite, Leah Petts, 14.11.08

Poets, Poetry, and Bob.

Howdy Gang,

I've been thinking today about Poetry, which I absolutely love, but everytime I mention to somebody, they seen to file me away as some kind of "weirdo"

So here's my challenge, anybody got another word for "poem" ...and I've already tried "verse," nobody knows what I'm talking about.

So here's my annoyance written in the cause of my annoyance for those with as warped a sense of humor:

-
Bob


"Poem" is an ugly word,
though not its meaning by any accord,

It tumbles so clumsily from the tongue,
too corny, too crude to adore.

And "poet," corrupted by stereotype,
has me loath to share my craft,

"Why, look at that weird "poet" kid,"
the fear that my peers will laugh.

I strive to find another word,
to descibe a paragraph in verse,

But not a single syllable I've heard,
that can prove my search of worth.

I can't say I don't like "poems,"
i've written my share, 'tis true

But I'm no "poet" clad in black,
no stereotype, thankyou.

How is it such freedom named ugly?
this plight how its made my head throb,

That's it! I'm sick of this stupid quest!
i'll name my poems Bob!



© Leah Petts. 9th August ‘08
-
-

Okay, so not that funny.
But I'm bored of Poems, so my question is,
does anybody like my Bob?

Cheers,
Leah Mae.

Tanith's Escapades- War on Tofu.

Last week a stranger with unruly orange curls and a surprised expression wandered into Tanith's Classroom during form assembly.
Shannon giggled and elbowed Tanith in the ribs. Yup, no doubt about it now, Thought Tanith grimly, New Guy.
The New Guy's name was Tomas. Tomas Cooper.

He had a locker above Tanith's, and was forever standing on her stuff.
Not that he meant to of course, but the fact still remained that Tanith was eating a slightly flatter lunch than ususal. (with the exception, perhaps, of last Thusrday)

Under the trees behind the Music Rooms, Tanith and Erin (who'd declared war on her mother's tofu) were relishing the last of the accidently-molested stras-and-sauce sandwich, and mulling over one of their old arguments about the school's mobile-phone policy; when the hairs on the back of Tanith's neck prickled.

She turned around to find herself nose-to-nose with none other than the sandwich-molester himself, Tomas Cooper.
Damn, thought Tanith immediatley.
Erin feined interest in some recent tree graffiti, and Tanith forced a smile,
"Hi, Tom what brings you here?" and how the hell did you find out where I hang? her brain hummed with impatience;

Tomas shifted his weight uncomfortably, and dropped a crumpled peice of paper into Tanith's open lunchbox.
"This got mixed up in my stuff"

Tanith unfolded the paper, it'd been torn out of an exercise book, and was the note Shannon had passed to Tanith in math today, the one about Shannon's crush.
Uh oh. Had he read it?

"You Didn't read this did you?"
"Huh?" -mental headslap! was this guy dumb? best talk slowly...
"I said, Tomas, Did. You. Read This. Note?"

the sandwich-squasher shook his fuzzy neon head vigorously
"Well... only to find out whose it was, I didn't know if it was important"

Tanith's brain twanged angrily, Nagh! wrong answer!
Tanith opened her mouth to say something indelicate, and Erin, having recognized the alarm bells, interjected quickly,

"Thanks for finding it Tomas, We'll make sure it gets back to Shannon safely"
"No big" came the distracted reply, "later Erin, see ya, Tanith"
Go away
Erin made one of those descreet "WELL?" motions at Tanith, and a grudging "see ya" grated out, as the note-reading-sandwich-squisher rounded the corner with a vague wave, and dissapeared out of sight.

Erin regarded Tanith curiously,
"he's really not that bad you know"
"humph. . ."

"he did mean well you know, bringing back the note"
"humph. . ."

"you're sulking again, aren't you?" Erin seemed genuinley concerned,
Hmmmmm. "Yup. . ."

"did you want me to leave you alone for a while?"
You guessed 'er Chester, Tanith thought loudly.

Erin made a face, "who you callin' Chester?"
Oops
"Uh Huh, and?"
Friends, eugh! . . .Double Oops.

-
-


© Leah Petts. 3rd May ‘08

Mangling the Language with Tanith...

Howdy there Y'all!

Y'know, you people can be awfully stingy with the comments sometimes!
Why, I've been on here since March and absolutley nobody bothered to let me know what they thought about my drivel. (and I'd brought out my special drivel just for the occasion too!)

A thought occurs... is it just me or have words become cheap these days?
What? an example? well, if you insist.
E.g in the time when calligraphy stood in for normal handwriting, letters would be agonised over -polished 'til they shone-
Toady, all you need to do is learn how to type and you can spew out any kind of garbled nonsense!

" Iffin' yeh tried 't read this 'ere awl the time, ye'd be a-windin' up wif the frightfuwl-est o' head-akes don't ya know there dorlin'! "

Certainly is easy to mangle the language eh? ...I'll tell you what, I'll ask Tanith.

-Whaddya you think-ish abou' this 'ere mess eh, Tanith?

- Did you really have to drag me into this? I mean it's peculiar enough being a figment of someones imagination but REALLY! this is only one step from talking to yourself!
You really want my opinion? I think you're crazy, THATS what I think!

-Why Tanith, what a thing to say!

**indelicate sound** go away, I'm brooding.

-Right you! If thats the way you want it fine!
Shall I grant you an indulgence too while I'm at it?- In case you should think of any more curse words?

I'm not going to dignify that with an answer Leah!

... all right everyone, Missy Mae's having a grouching moment, now let's all back away slowly
-no sudden movements, if you take my meaning-

I'll get you for this Tanith! you'll be eating snails in my next entry, Mark my words.

(insert dry chuckle here) Consider them marked, oh glorious leader.

Tanith!!!

Enjoy your day Houston,
This is Tanith, signing off!

-
-

*Humph*

Tanith's Escapades- Only Tea, a Disaster Indeed.

Winter, Tanith decided, was a time for contemplation- not action.
Mainly because so many people tended to sleep-in during winter.
People like Tanith.

Which, of course, begs the reason for why she's up so early on a Sunday.
Simple, it was all Erin's idea; and Erin was one of those people who didn't sleep-in.
In Tanith's opinion this made her an anomaly in the deepest sense of the word, not that she'd tell Erin this.

So here she was, with Erin the early-bird, at nine o'clock on a Sunday, visiting Erin's batty old Aunt Margaret.
Without coffee. only Tea. Disaster.

And here, at Erin's request, was Aunt Magaret, shuffling a deck of dog-eared TAROT cards.
Aunt Margaret was a dumpy little lady with a bright round face, frizzy brown hair and luminous red lipstick, most of which had been transferred to the tea-cup.

Margaret laid out the cards in a pattern that escaped Tanith; then turned them over and leaned forward over the cards, clicking her tongue.
five minutes passed without a sound save the clicking.

Tanith looked over at Erin, and made a cross-eyed face.
crazy old bat.
Erin shrugged
whatever.

Tanith turned her attention to Margaret, who was muttering to herself.
A moment or two later the "TAROT master's" eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, Dear" Margaret rasped, gathering up the cards "I think you girls should go now."
Erin thanked her Aunt and they left.

"So what was that about?" Tanith asked Erin after they were out of the earshot of Aunt Margaret.
Erin shrugged, "Either she stuffed up when she laid the cards out, or she read something she didn't want to tell you"
"Oh"

Silence.

After a moment Erin looked over at Tanith, and twirled a finger next to her ear.
Don't worry, she's a crazy old bat.
Tanith rolled her eyes skywards
Whatever.

-
© Leah Petts. 3rd May ‘08

A Poem that I even hate myself.

I don't feel like writing with Tanith today, she's still asleep and frankly I can't be bothered trying to wake up a fictional character.

So I think a poem may be in order, I'll apologise in advance for it.

-
The Faerie Market.

Take your woeful Faerie-blues to market, quick,
If they're stagnant they won't sell at all.
Gather them up in your pockets,
and sit, cross-legged amongst the stalls.

Lay out your wicked Faerie-blues,
they'll need no tag or price.
For no folk will bargain for your blues,
they have their own Faerie-strife.

Wear your patience as a shield,
while your Faeries struggle and scream.
Wait for Nanna Grimm,
To pluck you from your Faerie-dream.

Blindfold your eyes; lest you see her so,
the breeze of memory brushes your face.
With thin fingers she silenced your Faeries,
then, left nothing, not a trace.

The market is gone, like Nanna Grimm,
simply no longer there.
And you are numb without the Faerie-woes,
you so willingly gave her to snare.

From your woeless shell comes and anguished cry,
and Lo, Nanna Grimm appear!
Your Faeries struggle in her grasp,
your Faeries are grey with fear.

But without fear by your side,
the world is icy calm.
You turn your eyes to Nanna Grimm,
you grasp her by the arm.

Nanna Grimm looks down on you,
but without your fear, you cannot quail.
Wordlessly, you open your palm,
with a nod, She returns your Faeries-Frail.

As Nanna Grim begins to fade,
you embrace your dear Faerie-blues.
Never again to be tricked as you have,
Nanna Grimm is now wary of you.

With your woes riding light on your shoulders,
you head from the empty square.
Your blues as they have ever been,
held in check by your Faeries-Fair.

© Leah Petts, 30th March ‘08
-

that was quite an outpouring! (drivel more like)
I'm terribly sorry to anyone who gives a damn, but I'm morally obligated to wrap up this post.
You see, I've let my coffee go cold... (Nnnnnooooooooooooooo!)

Enjoy your day Houston,
this is Little Miss Scribble, signing off!

Tanith's Escapades- A nice Tree like that.

An ageing brown leaf landed resolutley on Tanith's shoulder; Tanith turned her head to look at the grim thing.
"Now why would you want to leave a nice tree like that?" she asked it quietly, glancing at the lovley old Dutch Elm from whence the leaf had come.

Shannon glanced at it too. "Watcha talkin' to a leaf for Tan?" she asked, And Tanith heard the thread of annoyance creep back into her voice.
"Nothing," Tanith sighed, letting her head fall back against the trunk of the tree. She could feel the deep ridges in the bark through her hair.
For the millionth time Tanith wondered why she'd even started talking to Shannon again.

It turned out that Shannon had 'accidently' overheard Erin telling a curious Jaynie Morrison why Shannon hadn't been hanging out with Tanith anymore.
So Shannon, who actually accepted being in the wrong for once, had apologised to Tanith and they'd started hanging out again.

This time Shannon gave Tanith a little more space, but still, Tanith found her company wearing somedays.

Another brownish leaf, evidently deciding to take its chances, landed with a rustle on Tanith's dirty black school-shoes.
Tanith regarded it sadly for a moment- it looked as tired as she felt.
On impulse, Tanith turned to the leaf on her shoulder, "Look!" she demaned of the still leaf angrily, "See what you started!"

Shannon made a choking sound, and Tanith turned quickly to find her old friend doubled over in silent, gasping laughter.
In a moment, a pair of hard brown eyes met a pair of laughing blue. The brown eyes seemed to soften, as Tanith began to tingle with a suppressed giggle.

Finally, with a helpless cry, Tanith joined in.
Their maniacal peals of laughter echoed in an impossible harmony through the trees,
She didn't wonder why anymore.



©Leah Petts, 20th March '08

Tanith's Escapades- Vegitarian food, eh, Erin?

Tanith ate her lunch with Erin today.

It was good, Tanith decided as she bit into her sandwich, (ham & tomato if you were wondering)
when you had other friends to support you when you're fighting with your best friend.

Though since their little screaming match last week (and that saturday detention afterwards when they had been forced to srub graffitied tables together) Tanith & Shannon hardly counted each other as friends anymore.

From Tanith's point of veiw it wasn't hard to see why they'd had such a falling out in the first place. Shannon was the sort of person that constantly needed a gaggle of friends with her to ensure her existance.
Tanith didn't, and though she liked having friends, was perfectly happy to keep her own company once in a while.

And Shannon, who just hadn't understood that Tanith needed her own time once in a while; proceeded to spend every spare moment she had with Tanith, oblivious to Tanith's subtle hints that perhaps Shannon could give her the time on her own that she needed just as much as Shannon needed constant social interaction.

Eventually, Tanith gave up being subtle.
Shannon had not taken it well at all, perceiving Tanith's plea for a little 'down time' as apparent rejection.
And, not understanding what she could have possibly done wrong, came to the conclusion that Tanith was, to use Shannon's phrasing (thought Tanith dryly) a 'heartless bitch'.

She handed the other half of her sandwich to Erin, who had continued to chatter away happily without notice of Tanith's daydream.
Tanith liked Erin, mostly because the were so similar; they both liked friends but didn't need them. Though Erin was somewhat more absent-minded than Tanith.

Tuning into Erin's mostly one-sided conversation at last, She found a question floating around her head and snatched it from the air:

"hey Erin," Tanith asked "aren't you a vegetarian?" looking pointedly at Erin's cheeks, bulging with the last of the sandwich.
Erin grinned thickly at her through a mouthful of ham and tomato,
"only if you talk to my mother."


© Leah Petts, 9th March ‘08

Tanith's Escapades-Screaming matches

If Shannon had wanted to piss Tanith off, then she'd more than got her wish.
That was the very last thing Tanith had wanted to do today of all days.
But then, you can only avoid somebody for so long in a high school as small as hers; and it looked like time was on Shannon's side, from Tanith's point of veiw.

But i'm getting ahead of myself, back to Tanith.

"I have to stop biting my nails" Tanith muttered to herself, anguished at the sight of her jagged digits. not that messy fingernails were to blame for her problems.

Starting high school had not been a big issue until she'd started fighting with Shannon.
at first she'd been glad of the company, but sometimes people are just too different, right?
Besides, after any good screaming match you both deserved a good sulk.

And that was just what she intended to do. sulk.
stowing her bag in her locker, Tanith sunk down on the steps at the back of the LOTE building.
a scuffed MP3 was produced from a pocket and she flicked through to a particualrly angry track she'd made herself in that program, what was it? Tanith frowned, Oh yeah! Garage Band, a Macintosh program.

Why did she have to have such a bad memory? though something in the back of her mind told her that this morning's little incident would not be so easily forgotten.

Roughly dismissing the 'something' back to it's dusty corner, Tanith put her back against the cold blue wall behind her; cranking up the music as loud as she dared.

with a defiant jab of the "repeat" button, Tanith closed her eyes, wishing that the world could be shut out this easily all the time.


© Leah Petts. 4th March ‘08

...And then there was one.

My first post... scary!

I'll get better in time, there's always hope.
...we can hope

Enjoy your day Houston,
Tis is Lil' Miss Scribble, signing off!