#8 shaft weaving

[saltpixiefibercraft]

Bit of a rainy day, but weaving is coming along nicely! This warp is gonna make two tencel scarf/wraps, warp is 8/2 Cotton and weft is 100% Tencel 8/2.

These are already so squishy on the loom, I can wait to feel them when they're finished 🥰

Bonus drive by Tabby in the background lol.

[sewambitious]

Almost forgot to show you guys before I gave it to the new parents 😊

[phasedchirp]

Messing around a bit to see what looks good (threading is an advancing point twill which repeats every 56 ends, and this is about 36 epi)

The more subtle colors at the top are what I'm actually going with for this project, but having thoughts about higher contrast in the future.

Also if I hadn't already bought a 20-dent reed for other reasons, this project would have convinced me because wool sure does love to stick to itself. Sadly I don't actually have it yet, so I'm slightly regretting some choices here

[whencyclopedia]

Child Labour in the British Industrial Revolution

Children were widely used as labour in factories, mines, and agriculture during the British Industrial Revolution (1760-1840). Very often working the same 12-hour shifts that adults did, children as young as five years old were paid a pittance to climb under dangerous weaving machines, move coal through narrow mine shafts, and work in agricultural gangs.

It was very often the case that children's jobs were well-defined and specific to them, in other words, child labour was not merely an extra help for the adult workforce. The education of many children was replaced by a working day, a choice often made by parents to supplement a meagre family income. It was not until the 1820s that governments began to pass laws that restricted working hours and business owners were compelled to provide safer working conditions for everyone, men, women, and children. Even then a lack of inspectors meant many abuses still went on, a situation noted and publicised by charities, philanthropists, and authors with a social conscience like Charles Dickens (1812-1870).

A Lack of Education

As sending a child to school involved paying a fee – even the cheapest asked for a penny a day – most parents did not bother. Villages often had a small school, where each pupil's parents paid the teacher, but attendance was sometimes erratic and more often than not the education rudimentary in hopelessly overcrowded classes. There were some free schools run by charities, and churches often offered Sunday school. Not until 1844 were there more free schools available, such as the Ragged schools established by Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury (1801-1885). These schools concentrated on the basics, what became known as the 3 Rs of Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. Compulsory education for 5 to 12-year-olds, and the institutions necessary to provide it, would not come along until the 1870s. Consequently, "at least half of nominally school-age children worked full-time during the industrial revolution" (Horn, 57).

Some factory owners were more generous than others to the children in their employ. An example is the Quarry Bank Mill in Styal in the county of Cheshire. Here the owner provided schooling after the long working day was over for 100 of its child workers in a dedicated building, the Apprentice House.

An indicator of better education, despite all the difficulties, is literacy rates, rather imperfectly measured by historians by recording the ability of a person to sign one's name on official documents such as marriage certificates. There was a great improvement in literacy, but by 1800, still only half of the adult population could sign their name to such documents.

For those children who could find work in the Industrial Revolution, and there were employers queueing up to offer it, there were no trade unions to protect them. For the vast majority of children, working life started at an early age – on average at 8 years old – but as nobody really cared about age, this could vary wildly. Working involved at best tedium and at worst an endless round of threats, fines, corporal punishment, and instant dismissal at any protest to such treatment. In one survey taken in 1833, it was found that the tactics used with child labourers were 95% negative. Instant dismissal accounted for 58%. In only 4% of cases was a reward given for good work, and a mere 1% of the strategies used involved a promotion or pay rise.

Continue reading...

[little-light-bulb]

YEAAAAH!

the back pain to set this up was so worth it, I also included my draft in case anyone wants it even though it's a fairly basic chevron twill. The one thing missing in my draft is a pink thread in shaft 1 on the rightmost side - my draft also does not include the floating selvedges. I'm weaving at 24 EPI with 8/2 cotton, the black is a slubspun cotton - all bought from The Woolery!

I'm going with a very loose weave because even though this is gonna be a scarf, our autumns are still fairly warm!

[witchersmistress]

Monster part 8

Happy Monday my darlings!!! ive updated, rainstorms and hate sex and even created another syverson story, but we havent feed the monster yet.. so shall we then??

Trigger warnings: irritation at yours truly, oral sex, male recieving. violence.

word count: 2.6K

my usual warnings, you do not have permission to copy my work in any shape way or form, if you do ill find you and haunt you for the rest of your days

Your POV

The sound of feet rapping on the wooden floorboards pulls me from my state of peaceful oblivion. For a few moments, I bask in the serene haze of waking from a restful state. And I realize that even my subconscious trusts him—August Walker. I no longer have nightmares. I no longer hear the sounds of metal screeching. I cracked one eye open, wrestling with my mind's intent to stay asleep a while longer. Yet, the weight over my waist and the heavy calf hooked over my feet causes both eyes to widen on the polished wooden panels opposite me. He’s still in bed with me. He slept.

Through the night... Closing my eyes, I breathe him in, the earthy, rich scent of masculinity with lingering hints of cologne. I love the way he smells. Not like a boy. Like a man. Staring at the back of my eyes, I recall last night like a mirage of flashing images:  the massage, his kisses. Touch. “I love you.” Behind the door to our right, the footsteps continued, heavy steady ones followed another set of heavy ones. Blinking my eyes open, I adjust to the ambient yellow hue that the sun has gifted us this morning. The hour seems late.

 I roll over in his arms, but they tighten immediately, making it hard for me to maneuver. Within the cage of large, warm muscles, I manage to get around to face him. His breath fans down my face, heavy and warm, with tones of his port cigars. He hums. As he fights against the world trying to wake him up, his brows weave, creating a slight ridge between them. His long dark lashes fan below his eyes. Why do some men have the most spectacular eyelashes?

I lift my hand to his chiseled jawline, mapping the dark bristles lightly peppered with grey. Beneath his warm skin, I see the pulse of his jaw as he clenches his teeth. Everything about this man is firm, serious. Even as he rests, he is a formidable presence. So, I lean forward and press my lips to his before licking the valley between, coaxing him to wake up and relax his jaw. I’m his... I belong. He growls in his chest, and I smile softly at the grumpy response. “You slept through the night . I’m so proud of you for not fighting it,” I tease. With a start, he jerks me onto my back, holding me captive beneath him. I lose my breath as his lips crash against mine in a punishing rhythm that sends blissful stars soaring around my body. My ballooning heart rests comfortably, warm and full, within my ribcage while my lungs strain below his heavyweight. It is a pleasurable sensation. Being so close to being crushed, but not close enough to hurt or suffocate. Enough to feel the epitome of secureness. I moan into our kiss as the length between his thighs presses into my hip so hard it could bruise me with the right pressure.

Rubbing his shaft on me, he groans. To experience this man, raw, feral, animalistic and without his practiced façade, fills me with warmth. I moan when his mouth attacks my chin and jaw, ravishing my skin. His hips begin to move in a sleepy way, chasing a sensation, an ebb to his erection, I am overcome with the desire to please him. Like he pleases me. "Are you under duress?" His lips smile at my neck. "Somewhat." “Can I please you?" He drops his forehead to mine, his breath a tumbling wave of heat. “Would you like to?” “Yes,” I whisper. Rolling onto his back, he pulls me with him, his blue gaze holding a dare, a warning. “I’m going to come in your pretty mouth then.”

 When he raises his hand and pushes two fingers through my lips, a small grin curves the corner of his mouth. He pushes them inside, down my tongue, to the back of my throat, where he pokes hard at the end. I gag a little, my throat closing around his penetration. He retracts his fingers. “ Sweet girl, do you want to suck my dick anyway? Gag around it? Would that make you happy?" I nod, worrying my bottom lip. I really want to make him feel all the intensity I do when he pleasures me, and I think I can do it. A wisp of a nod shows his approval, and with that, I crawl down his body. For the first time in two days, my stomach flutters with excitement and nervousness—my missing butterflies.

Stopping at the first protruding two-pack, I find it too lick-able to resist. I wanted to lick him weeks ago and, dammit, now I’m going to. If I lick him... does he belong to me? I lap my tongue out to roll it over the hard grooves shaping his abdominals. The slab of muscles tighten. As I get to his thick cock, it bobs. His fingers comb through my hair before he leans up to scoop the strands into his fist so he can hold the lot in a ponytail, offering him the view he so desires. Inhaling courage, I take him into my mouth, and he releases a deep, encouraging groan as I flick my tongue around. I peer up to see his blue gaze hooded, his jaw clenched. The breathtaking intensity in his eyes forces mine to close, and I concentrate on pleasing him, on pleasing my man. I’d like him to belong to me... 

A small amount of salty precum slides into my mouth, mingling with my saliva. I use it to further wet his shaft. Exploring the long, steely muscles with my tongue, I flick around the silken skin at the head to the piercings just below. I lap a line up the tight cord beneath before traveling further, tonguing the slit. He bucks slightly when I do that, so I do it again. And again. I feel his thighs tighten. The hand gripping my hair urges me deeper, reassuringly, not forcefully. "That's it. Let me slide down your throat. Relax." I try to take him in. The veins below his skin pulse under my attention. Halfway down the solid muscle, I hit the first piercings , gagging slightly. Sliding back up his erection, I immediately dive again, this time getting a tiny bit deeper. He hisses. “Good girl. You’re doing so well.” A moan leaves me with his praises. A rumble of my enjoyment reverberates around his cock, provoking his pelvis to thrust upward. After a few bobs of my head, I get a rhythm, sliding down with pressure and dragging my tongue along the lower knot of skin on the withdrawal, while his fist causes a sting on my scalp. Tears stream down my face. 

His groans become grunts. His muscles tighten, contort. “I’m going to come. You’re going to swallow every drop I give you. Then lick me clean... That’s it... Oh. Fuck. More...That's a good fucking girl.” He jerks my ponytail back and pushes me down, controlling my head in a brutal way that causes my throat to contract and whimpers to soar around his thick cock with the battering sensation. “Good... good girl.” Then he explodes in a violent rush, flooding my mouth with his cum, shaking and pulsing through the moment, never relinquishing his control over my head. I swallow, but it's thick and powerful shots of hot fluid. I love the indecency of it, the virility. The rawness. I love bringing him that kind of pleasure. I want to do it again.

He groans softly, his head dropping back on the pillow. My powerful man, sated by my mouth. Satisfaction and pride flitter through me as I lick his cock, wiping all the saliva and cum from it with my tongue. “Christ,” he mutters. “Your little lips fuck me up, sweet girl.” I rise and crawl up his body, settling down in the crook of his shoulder. Peering up at him, I find his eyes closed and his chest expanding and falling in deep movements. “Did I do good?” “Yes. Very good.” “Will you ever belong to me?” The question spills from my lips before I even think about it. His eyes snap open. “I mean...It doesn’t seem fair—” His brows draw in as he stares at the ceiling. “I belong to you.” A long, slow exhale leaves him, stoking the kindling under my heart, forcing it to ignite with frantic little beats.

 He gazes down at me through his lashes, a softness to the piercing blue rings. I let those words sink in, down to my chest, settling around my heart that expands just for him. Much more than anyone else. It’s a sweet offering and one a girl like me can accept. More than a crumb. Much more. “I heard feet before you woke up,” I say, gently. “And they definitely aren’t Hench— I mean Bolton’s.” “ feet?” “Yeah, like a bunch of men.” He sighs his displeasure, sliding me gently from his chest and rolling over, leaving me in the bed. Pulling the blankets up, I watch him stroll over to the closet, retrieve a pair of faded blue jeans and throw them on. They are slung low around his hips, directing my eyes to the sharp muscle-arrows at his lower abdomen, and God, they are sinful. 

They make me silly, make my butterflies manic. His torso is long and cut to the fine definition of a sculpture. “You’re so handsome.” I sigh dreamily. He sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes meeting mine, whirling with severity. “ The rest of my men are here, sweet girl. They must have found out I came out here and took it upon themselves to join me. Such is their nature.” When he presses his warm hand to my cheek, I rub into it, nuzzling, loving the gentle attentiveness. His voice drops when he says, “ Will you be okay with seeing them?” A little ache moves through my chest, but it’s not intense, just a meek reminder. I shake my head in his palm. “I’ll be fine," I say. " With a charming grin, he stands up, his hand dropping from my cheek, the warmth missing immediately, and any distance between us right now reminds me of loss. Then he disappears through the bedroom door. His absence brings waves of nervousness. Will he tell them who I am? Do they already know? 

Pulling myself up off bed, I made my way into the bathroom and turned on the shower letting the steam fill the room. Discarding my night clothes and climbing in. August never strays too far from my thoughts. He is a gorgeous man but a dangerous one.

August’s POV

I stroll out the door and hear the tell-tale signs of the shower going and I how I so desperately wanted to turn back around and join you. But my men needed me. Taking the stairs down I find Finn, bothering my cook Nicci. “Finn” I clipped . He raised his hands and backed away from her. “I know she is your girl but she is working.” Nicci elbowed him in the ribs. “Exactly I'm working now so piss off,” she sniped at him in her Australian accent. How an Aussie lass fell for an Irish fella I'll never understand “ Mr. Walker, how is she feeling this arvo?” I looked over at the blonde woman, “She is alright but probably something light for her to pick at, she's been through an awful lot.” she nodded and went on her way, not before snapping a tea towel at Finn when he tried to grab her ass. “Finn” I snapped again, this time he stopped. “Yes boss?” “Lets go over everything from that day and figure out what the fuck went wrong. He nodded and started pulling up camera feeds and the list of visitors that were on the grounds that day when Nicci’s soft voice caught me off guard “Hi Miss. Meade, how are you?” I looked up and saw you making your way into the kitchen, in a pair of leggings and one of my sweaters. You tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ears as your eyes darted around the room before landing on me.

 I simply extended a hand out to you and you came right over. Tucking you into my side, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before rubbing my hand down your side. Nicci came over with a spot of toast and some sliced fruit. She also placed a glass of orange juice and water in front of you, reaching for the OJ you took a few sips and set the glass back down. As you settled in to pick up some toast, you turned green and bolted out of my arms and into the bathroom. Darting after you, I held back your hair and  rubbed your back in small circles as you settled down “I thought the morning sickness would go away after losing them” stifling a sob. I picked you up and carried you bridal style back to our room “ Finn yelled “Call that prick Price and get him over here to look at her, i don't care what it takes” he nodded as i continued up the stairs. 

Tucking you into bed and grabbing my laptop to work, a hour had passed  as i went over the visitors logs for that day when Finn walked in “ As requested I got Price for you” standing up i walk over and say “Check her out and find out what is wrong with her” casting one last look at you I went with Finn and left you with the good Dr.

We’ve been going over CCTV footage and photographs for what felt like hours but i couldn't focus, it was maddening. Running a hand threw my hair, I pounded on the table in frustration. So many things went wrong that day but the loss was one I'm still reeling from. I never intended to fall in love with you the way that I did, even when I started stalking you over a year ago. Staring out the window at the backyard, I could have seen it now, you chasing our little ones through the garden, possibly a dog. You swollen with yet another one of my children, simply because I could not keep my hands off of you. Sitting on the porch watching the rain after the kids were tucked in for the night. That is indeed a life I never envisioned for myself but stalking you made it an actual possibility. 

A soft knock drew me from the recesses of my mind. “Hello poppet” Finn said, you were standing in the doorway, your face was red and splotchy, you tugged at the cable knit sweater, and then the sleeves. “ I’ll be back” my council was about to object but i shot them a look, without another word, i walked over to you and scooped you up and brought you to our bedroom. Placing you gently on the end of the bed, “Sweet girl what is wrong?” you continued to fiddle with the sleeves of the sweater, the dr was nowhere insight, you spoke so softly at first that i barely heard you, “What was that sweet girl?” you picked up your head and your eyes were brimming with tears “Im still pregnant”

[dead-rabbit-comics]

math

spent all day trying to puzzle out a weaving question and relearned many interesting things about permutation and combination and i think i finally drew the possibility tree that got me to understand why the results are what the results are. math.

feeling happy, stupid, smart and like i need a walk and a shower maybe but i'm putting it here because i'm bound to forget again sometime

if you have e.g. four possible ways of treadling (and sinking your shafts in a way both you and your loom prefer: in twos) how many unique sequences can you make?

the answer is 3! = 6

why? because the sequence is repeated it doesn't matter which treadle you start with. so if you pick one as a starting point and go through all of the different possibilities with that starting point this works out to be 3! = 3x2x1 = 6

because the sequence is what matters, the three remaining starting points will simply end up being repetitions of one of those six sequences.

thanks to the 8 hour detour i now also know what happens when i pick 4 out of 6 possible treadling options and repeat those WOW

actually 6 options, i choose 6 = 5! = 120 6 options, i choose 4 = 15 treadle combos of 4 and as learned before, each of these have 3! possible sequences so 15x6 = 90 possibilities - not that much of a difference to using all 6 :D

[demongrocer]

I want to experiment with posting fiber arts stuff on tumblr more. If you want to avoid my fiber arts posts, filter out the tag #demongrocerFiberArts

I wasn't acquainted with the idea of National Knitting and Crochet Month / NaKniCroMo in March (fashioned after NaNoWriMo / National Novel Writing Month in November). However, I saw a post this year and figured I would try it out

NaKniCroWriMo Week 1: Meet the Maker

Day 1: Introduce yourself

I have been dabbling in random fiber arts like latch hook and pot holder weaving since childhood, but learned knitting and crochet when I was 17. I took to knitting in particular, and knitted on and off for years (mostly basic hats and scarves).

When I was in my late twenties, a coworker was knitting at his desk, which renewed my excitement about knitting. We started a craft club together at work, and I expanded my knitting skills significantly (knitting with double pointed needles, knitting small toys, knitting socks, etc.), and relearned the basics of crochet from a craft group member.

In my mid-thirties I started experimenting with machine knitting, first with round Addi knitting machines, then with flat bed and double bed knitting machines, then with circular sock knitting machines. I found that relearning crochet basics yet again was useful for finishing machine knit pieces. This time crochet finally clicked with my brain, and while I am still at essentially the proficient novice stage, I have made multiple shirts and a hooded cardigan, which has led to me teaching some crochet basics classes locally.

At this point, I have been exposing myself to various fiber arts, and picked up both spinning (drop spindle, manual wheel, and espinner) and weaving (mostly rigid heddle loom weaving, but trying other small looms and cards, and working to get a small 8 shaft floor loom).

Edited to add: I also do some cross stitch and needlepoint here and there, but am usually too impatient to do anything not tiny

[oceanlovingcommunist]

Weaving again!!! Finally!! No one drag me for my selvages or how ugly it is 😭 when I bought the loom it was already warped and the treadling was prepped so im just playing around with what she set up. So much fun, I missed it so much 🥰 and how lucky I feel to have my own 8-shaft loom! 💕💕💕

[carpe-mamilia]

Costumes on the Cheap

[Text ID: "In case anyone else is super annoyed by every single new show ending up being “mid” and wondering why it’s basically because of the New Studio System™ of streaming services and the constant push for content at all cost as fast as possible, and here’s what you’re not noticing (that you actually do notice every time) that’s making it worse.

Basically because of the extreme push to make the ✨New Best Thing✨ that executives believe can grab a huge dedicated fan base, the pre-production time for creating MASSIVE new visual feasts is fractured into mere months alongside a severely lessened budget because of the huge extra costs of rushing each department to meet the proposed deadline. I can’t speak professionally for set design or VFX and cinemomatography, but I can say that the toll it takes on costuming and hair/makeup has made almost every new release from Amazon, Netflix, and Hulu have a B movie visual quality that’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the more we’re flooded with it.

For instance with the upcoming Rings of Power by Amazon, the reason Peter Jackson’s original trilogy stands so strongly 20+ years later is partly because the production spent years hand making every single piece of armor with real metal, hand dyeing all natural fiber fabrics and designing distinct embroidery and hairstyles specific to each race in middle earth that had continuity through the story. The natural dyes and dedicated layers of fabrics for elves/weaves for hobbit wool/dyes for Men had a much more muted medieval look, yet ethereal because of the slight detail you don’t REALLY notice but the depth draws your eye to every inch of the costume regardless. In figure 1 you can see they barely scrapped together an unnaturally gilded scale mail breastplate and just screenprinted a stretch long sleeve shirt to match underneath, all over a skirt in a single layer of a warped poly skirt. In figure 4 they just saved money on an elven wig altogether for a 2022 pompadour, with a velvet pleated priest smock (with crushed parts not even steamed out) and a neckline that isn’t tailored to fit like weve seen previously with Elrond or Celeborn.

Bridgerton (figure 2)I’ve bitched about enough already and it’s obviously not meant to be historically accurate which is totally fine, but the extreme RIT dye colorways on the multitudes on synthetic fabrics, the lack of topstitching on any of the mens tailoring and complete lack of any embellishment like beadwork or embroidery or proper undergarments to make the costuming fit correctly just make them look like a “regency gentleman” pattern from a McCall’s catalogue someone made really well for a Halloween party.

With the new house of the dragon show there’s already articles written about the wigs, and one of the main reasons they look so terrible is because they had to use synthetic hair for the Targaryen wigs. I’m 100% sure it’s due to budget, Daenerys’ wigs for season 8 were in the tens of thousands in cost. Because long white blonde human hair that has to be custom made into multiple wigs for a single character is a HUGE ask for a studio to approve budget-wise, there’s was most likely someone that decided to go with synthetic because of how many white bLondres they have in the show. The problem is that synthetic hair reflects light throughout the whole hair shaft, and it tangles extremely easily. With any shot where a character isn’t actively moving or is performing dialogue and the hair isnt being actively smoothed down every couple of second between shots, each flyaway is going to show up on camera if there’s any indirect lighting and look messy. Not only that, synthetic hair is also twice as thick per strand than human hair, so regardless of that the wigs are going to look bulky in an uncanny valley sort of way.

It’s been noticeable af with marvel the last few years, and it’s been super noticeable recently with every new show that gets rushed through to filming in order to get a release date within 1-2 years of a green light, but it’s going to be so fucking awful in 15-20 years looking back at all the potentially great but cheaply made media from this time period, the Shein era of Mass Media." End ID]

Original post can be found here

[dpalden]

Here we go again! Spreading the first warp across the Louet in-built raddle prior to winding the warp onto the back beam. The whole process which includes threading up the heddles and sleying the Reed is known as ‘dressing the loom’. You have to love the language of weaving.

Linen yarn, 8 shaft loom

[saltpixiefibercraft]

More from this lovely tencel/cotton warp, with bonus cameo from the studio "bear"

Tabitha says hello to you all, she is the one who loves photoboming these videos the most 😂 best studio helper.

[sewambitious]

Well, at least it’s coming along. I accidentally threaded the middle threads too densely though. Dead center too! 😫 🤷🏾‍♀️ I’m hoping to get 9 sets of suns out of this warp but we’ll see.

[phasedchirp]

Continuing to mess around with variations on drafts for a project, this time branching out a bit from structures where all of the treadles are tied up with the same structure. Leaning towards this, where I used the tie-up from some historical drafts from this cool blog post (http://www.maxmosscrop.com/blog/thomas-jackson-ralph-watson/) as a starting point:

Going to do this in 40/2 linen instead of the heavier hemp I made my last batch of towels in, which should be fun

[mantrabay]

Rush Amid The Rapids Published 8

( Dedicated to my wonderful Sister Jay Pallen)

The greatest performance of my life.

Howard’s proud piece de resistance award on Poetry Nook for my magnum opus “Rush Amid The Rapids” in their daily member section.

After endless hours of toil, tribulation, energy sapping endeavour and quite a few rejection slips of the email inbox type.

One invests as I did so much effort, enterprise, entreaty to fruitless no avail initially,

despite patient guidance and sagacious tutorship from wondrous sister, Jay Pallen, who helped me navigate the perilous ocean,

we must sometimes swim without a life jacket in the area of imaginative thought.

From work in progress to sophisticated stylish sweep drawn to a quelle surprise denouement,

Sister Jay was my ship’s captain.

But first things first.

The plot entailed a multi-layer

mystical entanglement about suspect demarcations between an urban dweller’s pressure cooker lifestyle and that green leaf tranquil environment found in nature.

An accountant, Landon, who was torn between two stools,

desperately seeking something deeper but wasn’t really sure if such depth actually exists.

Of course the other aspect of this mind-boggling jigsaw was an audacious couple who ran this Eco publishing company in an idyllic otherworld hub.

They parted ways after a very early cordial relationship but still kept in touch.

A dark secret was being kept which Landon could only guess at.

The subject of life in all its forms was the one common thread between this mysterious pair and said deep life meaning accountant.

There were many reasons why this Landon decided to spring a sudden visit.

A crucial overall element if the truth be told.

Gaps between visits can have so many strange effects.

But why were they (the couple) so furtive?

An intangible cone of silence that worsens with time.

Jay, suggested that I paint an elaborate tour-de-force natural world canvass to add intrigue and spectrum colour.

Nettles, rainbow trout arches,

clubmoss plants and other ornate structures.

Against labyrinthine ancient rock form, overbearing mountain peak, the bizarre appearance then vanishment of an elk as the watchtower mountain gazed on what would soon hatch a peculiar cataclysmic curtain closer.

Jay’s astute analytical asides left me thunderstruck at every single turn.

Over copious cream coffees and velvet vegan bars, tasty tea and pistachio protein pecks I listened avidly to her:

“Don’t lose your core narrative or momentum.

Make sure there are abrupt surprise scene shifts and never waste an opportunity to add portrait plenty pigment.”

An extract from my creation which Jay Pallen always emphasises would be this one :

“The couple, Chesney(Husband) and Chelsea(Wife) resided in a cherry wood log cabin with tongue-and-groove cladding and a pine timber roof lantern peering pensively into the maze-like river down below.

This dwelling was perched at the side of a mountain.”

A woman of immense giftedness, Jay, forensically screens each phrase, for potential catharsis and climax building.

A gradual sense of ecstasy descends as Jay, angel and mentor, to my most ambitious project yet wisely observes : “Jump start your target audience.

They mustn’t doze off.”

My sister again : “What may seem fascinating to you might just as easily be incorrigibly boring to others.”

By way of example another passage from this tome :

“A circus of the wilds continued to intensify outside as species vied with species in a fanfare of egos.

Chirping Robin Red Breasts at the window,

crickets in high chorus as they scrape their wings behind a Vulcan steam curtain.

Horseshoe Bats that bob and weave around rainbow shafts.

Such delights as Daddy Long Legs with their Cancan dances on sodden green patches.”

A blissful whisper emanates from Jay : “Keep littering your storyline with little hints and clues. This life obsessed couple are in denial.”

Chelsea had a quaint baby twang, Chesney a roguish infant zeal.

They seemed to have one intense obsession with children’s toys.

“Landon did notice kids gadgets dangling over cube modular storage units.

Pink Salmon quilted eiderdowns, pillows with children sleeping under moonlit skies, and Milky Way throw blankets completing this dreamland scene.”

Sustaining short attention spans can be an obstacle as Jay indeed took every opportunity to point out.

The life energy, lifespan and this secret!

Tease, taunt and trick the target readership, Jay Pallen, with that magic ripple charm laugh, our family Einstein and guru.

Especially when absorbing the description below as torrid tumult to furious finale.

“Landon limped outside to an

ear-splitting din and a mist-laden detritus that merged into pockets of streams steeplechasing each other.

A slimy frog vaults and casts a damp viscous oil spray in his direction into the bargain.”

Why did Chesney and Chelsea treat Landon like a child?

Why were this couple imitating mannerisms one associates with children?

We’re there other revelations in store?

Landon discovered in a letter near the edge of some nascent river that Chelsea was barren, incapable of having children according to their doctor and they didn’t want to face such dilemmas when managing their life publishing company.

Chesney and Chelsea offered Landon a position as accountant and editor.

Was Landon being used as a family substitute?

Landon himself receives a text from his company that his post was in danger.

So the job offer might seem like someone’s hidden hand.

A curious convergence had now arrived.

All three characters jump with glee into a turbulent cascade singing their hearts out as that sky tower mountain watches imperiously and the elk reappears.

Maybe that elk knew something after all!

Rush Amid The Rapids was published on Poetry Nook 16th February 2020

How Jay and I rejoiced due to her pivotal role in the greatest performance of my life!

Photograph and piece all my own work @mantrabay

I appreciate in advance everyone on Tumbrl who considers and rates this post

[raheltade]

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