Author, editor, attempter of this thing called life. Social anxiety warrior. Re-Connections, a collection of short stories, published with Ocelot Press, 15/10/2025.
A calm walk by the river past bobbing boats and a riverside pub.
I’ll remember that in my riverless hometown.
Some flights are boring.
Others are not.
The difference is caused by the person sitting next to me.
If only I had the confidence to take the initiative….
.
.
A day spent going nowhere.
We all need those days sometimes.
Tomorrow, I start moving again.
.
.
While walking, I hear many accents and languages, and see many colours.
Where I live, I sense these things, too.
But there, I don’t remark on them because I’m used to them.
Here, I do because London has changed since I lived here.
The outsider notices more.
I feel guilty for not feeling the way I’m expected to feel.
They say it must be so hard and they’re all so sorry.
But I felt those feelings five years ago,
When no one said how sorry they were.
It’s not that I’m uncaring, just that I’ve got past that stage.
Straight from a house that’s much too hot to one that’s rather cold. I prefer the cold one. In winter, I expect to feel cold.
The coach navigates the narrow-laned London streets.
We pass Harrods, the Victoria and Albert, Hammersmith.
Outside London, rows of pretty houses.
England is always the same, or is it?
The seatbelt holds me in a tight grip.
Mobile phones ring, and conversations, too:
“We went to this restaurant last night. It was shit.”
“I should arrive about four ten.”
No, changes are everywhere. They happen with or without me.
Certificates, shopping bills, photographs, letters, birthday cards, advertisements, special offers, concessions. It’s amazing how much stuff you can find in one old woman’s home.
I threw earth on my mother today.
Three times, I shovelled earth onto a spade and let it fall onto a wooden box deep, deep down.
Rest in peace, Mum. Your memory is blessed.
Family photographs
Mum at 60, Mum at 95, Mum at 21, Mum at 14.
Dad, never younger than 45.
Grandma getting married or as an old lady.
“That little girl is L.” “No! It’s me!”
“Who’s that?” Nobody knows. Someone lost in the past.
A whole generation has just disappeared.
A vast expanse of white.
Greyish in parts.
Mounds.
Snow?
No.
Clouds seen from above.
***
Yes, I took a plane this morning on my way to my mother’s funeral.
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to post a small stone every day because I won’t always have an Internet connection. But I’ll continue to write them.
When you look back and think of all the sights that have changed, all the things that have happened, it’s comforting to see something that has remained the same. The monster has seen it all.
Recently, certain bloggers have been writing about factors that could cause an author’s writing to be rejected by publishers or agents, although these factors shouldn’t really count at all. Catdownunder wrote about age and location after being told by a publisher that her age and location would prevent her from ever being published. Nicola Morgan wrote a very sensible response to that, in which she said that while the publisher was not correct, age and unavailability could make publication harder. Both of these posts attracted many comments, most of which disagreed vehemently with the publisher, while some cautiously mentioned that, actually, there was a little truth in what he said. Then Catherine Hughes discussed a comment on another blog that asserted that “disabled people are – to an employer (a publisher, in fact) at least – a potential embarrassment, and should stand aside and allow those capable of doing all aspects of a job without difficulty to go ahead and do so.”
Since certain similar factors apply to me, and I have no wish to hide them, I decided to address them in an open letter to anyone who is wondering whether I’m worth publishing. The letter follows. At a later stage, I might post it on a separate page of this blog.
***
Dear Publisher, Agent and anyone else who’s interested,
There are many reasons why I am a good person to work with:
Just in case you think there are any factors that might weigh against me in my quest to be published, I want to put your mind at rest by discussing each of the possibilities:
Now that I’ve clarified those points, and if you like my writing, I hope we can talk, meet, sign and work together.
The tingling freshness of toothpaste on my teeth reminds me of the tingling freshness of a cold sunny day on my cheeks.
Miriam Drori, Author