The very wonderful author Julie Northup has kindly interviewed me about my current work in progress. If anyone would like to read about my future Steampunk project, its main characters and what will follow, please feel free to click HERE. You’ll see why I’ve not been here so much.
Thanks in advance
The comforts of snow were not lost on those who worked in the pits. Darkness, permeated only by the will-o’-the-wisp headlights of our workmates, filled our heads and hearts; several thousand tonnes of rock overhead would do that to you. In between breaths choked with shattered shale and coal dust, we would dig and pray, dig and pray, then pray some more.
The bell to signifying the changing shifts brought little in the way of relief; tiredness had broken us, we were nothing but jet-black ghosts. Seasons meant little down below, deep in the depths, but not so above.
When the lift breached the shaft entrance and flooded us with blinding white light, I for one thought we might have got off in heaven. I was wrong. I was always wrong, and glad to be. White blankets of peace and frigid air purged more than just ragged breaths, they purged our souls. Such was a miner’s lot in the Yorkshire coal fields, and the reason we valued our Christmases so greatly.
So tired, flaking away like dried paint, I crumble.
Lurching from one letter to the next,
So many curving lines to consider,
I reel, teeter on the brink.
The sentences blur like old photos, tattered and grey,
Monochrome memories of visions once golden.
Where is this gold now?
The mind sees the body struggle,
Yet cannot help,
Disparate thoughts lingering,
As though enjoying the turmoil,
Then they, too, flitter away.
Labours of love are the hardest, they say,
Strenuous because they must be right;
This love curdles like gone off cream.
Days and nights are melding,
Eyes closed when not.
I press the keyboard to a well-worked rhythm;
It carries me to where I wish to be:
Death or destiny.