Toulla Laid Down Her Gun new fiction by Pat Watson (in progress)

Hello All of You who regularly follow this blog. I’ve begun posting a fiction in progress, the working title of which is “Toulla Laid Down Her Gun…” The posts can be found at http://toullasStory.wordpress.com. I would really like to encourage response from readers with questions and other comments as this tale makes its journey. I’ve posted the first entry here and will provide notices here as well for each new entry at the Toulla blog site. I hope it will generate lots of readers.

 

http://toullasStory.wordpress.com

 

Toulla Laid Down Her Gun…©

An original fiction by Pat Watson

(April 18, 2014)

Toulla laid down her gun…in time to come to her senses. It wasn’t that she had no love for the thing, but it was, to her way of thinking, that it had outgrown its usefulness. So she lay it down without a further thought. Just days before, she had it taped to her hand so that even if she should fall asleep it would not fall away from her. But a lot can happen in a few short hours. A lot happens and a lot shouldn’t happen.

In spite of her best attempts. She gave in to the feeling long held that she couldn’t or shouldn’t escape the sins of your family. Lying in a dark, and echoic corner, her hand and the gun one expression, it was what led her to give over and the very thing she had run from until that day.

Tall, bony shouldered and with long-toes on feet that always wanted to go ahead of her to some place, Toulla was a question in her mother’s mind. That distant morning when she woke she knew she had lain with someone, but the amount of cane liquor that rivered through her in the hours previous swept away any clue whether it was her husband or someone depraved enough to have swum that river with her. For it was no secret that once she had jumped into those waters, unquenched, unquenchable, she would predictably be transported to a murderous conviction.

What rage sat coiled waiting to be let loose by cane liquor? And what drunken contortions could have summoned a life such as Toulla’s?

The man she knew as her father was no saint to her mother’s drunken sinner. The two were a fitting pair.

It’s not that she was even afraid of them, since she knew she was of them, but she sensed that she could be otherwise. She never shied away or tried to show them different. But she saw a road away from their barren breakfast table that was her morning wake up call and the banging aftershocks of her everyday life.

Many things happen daily on a farm that tell a child life holds little in the way of gentle spaces. For whatever you grow, eventually you will have to kill, or reap, to eat. So you tend things, while ever mindful not to hold them too near your heart.

This original fiction is the sole property of Patricia Watson. Reproduction in whole or in part cannot be made without the express permission of the author.©

 

Gabriel García Márquez is Dead

inthroughacolouredlens:

For those who have not yet read Garcia Marquez’ One Hundred Years of Solitude, I, and millions of others no doubt, highly recommend it. Brilliant writing. A true artistic masterpiece. We all have our departure date, but leaving such a mark is what makes having been here matter.

Originally posted on Caribbean Book Blog:

gabriel-garcia-marquez-cumpleanos-300x300

Gabriel García Márquez, the Colombian novelist whose “One Hundred Years of Solitude” established him as a giant of 20th-century literature, died on Thursday at his home in Mexico City. He was 87. 

Cristóbal Pera, his former editor at Random House, confirmed the death. Mr. García Márquez learned he had lymphatic cancer in 1999, and a brother said in 2012 that he had developed senile dementia. Read more in the New York Times

View original

migration, mental illness, and marginalization in Canada

inthroughacolouredlens:

Well worth reading

Originally posted on Fledgling:

index Part 2 of “When You’re Strange” is up on the Media Diversified site now. Stuart Hall’s death in February sent me reeling and I found myself writing about him in my essay:

The recent death of Stuart Hall led me to revisit his work and reconsider its impact on my thinking about migration; I now see even more parallels between Hall’s journey and my own. I didn’t know it at the time, but in my senior year of high school I went through a serious depressive episode and have lived with depression ever since. In a 1992 interview with Kuan-Hsing Chen, Hall reflects on his years in Jamaica and admits:

“When I look at the snapshots of myself in childhood and early adolescence, I see a picture of a depressed person. I don’t want to be who they [his parents] want me to be, but I don’t know how to…

View original 324 more words

Daylight Saving Time, The Sleep Dilemma – E-book Excerpt

inthroughacolouredlens:

Because, it is so timely, here again, the lament over Daylight Saving Time. Except, apparently, it was not Ben Franklin but a Frenchman who first sprang the DST idea on the rest of us poor (sleep-deprived) souls. Anyway, have a good read.

Originally posted on In Through A Coloured Lens:

Turn Back the Clock2March 8, 2009

Daylight Saving Time – The Sleep Dilemma

 

Blame American Benjamin Franklin for germinating the idea, back in the late 1700s, that has become the annual torment of trying to get out of bed an hour earlier between March and November – the annual discomfort commonly referred to as “Daylight Saving Time” or DST (or incorrectly, Daylight Savings Time).

Save daylight time?

One grating message that weather forecasters and others foist on us unbelievers is that DST gives us an extra hour of daylight. That man has done what God cannot do is truly a miracle since to add an extra hour of daylight is to go beyond the current parameters of nature. In fact we experience greater hours of sunlight as a result of the rotational relationship between the Sun and the Earth, more precisely because the tilt of the Earth as it moves around the…

View original 473 more words

Third World’s William ‘Bunny Rugs’ Clarke Dead At 65

Originally posted on Magic 106.3 FM:

bunny

William “Bunny Rugs” Clarke (pictured), lead singer of the wildly popular reggae group Third World, passed away Sunday at his Florida home from complications due to leukemia at 65 years old, according to The Jamaican Gleaner.

SEE ALSO: Mandela Leaves $4 Million To Family, Staff And ANC

Clarke had reportedly been receiving cancer treatments and was released from an Orlando hospital; he had only been home one week when he died. He would have turned 66 years old on February 6th.

Clarke began singing at age 15 with local bands in his beloved homeland of Jamaica before joining Third World in 1976. The group had instant success on these shores and in Britain but will always be remembered for their 1978 signature song “Now That We Found Love.”

Listen to “Now That We Found Love” here:

[ione_embed src=//www.youtube.com/embed/XXeY74ttezU service=youtube width=420 height=315 type=iframe]
Music icon Stevie Wonder so loved…

View original 214 more words