Lynette Fisher

... has been writing since turning 40 in 2009: a good friend bought her  a blank journal and said “Now get a story written!” She joined the Harlow Writer’s Workshop that year and has attended the annual Winchester Writers’ Conference each year since 2011. Both continually inspire her to keep writing.

 

Lynette won a Writers’ Forum magazine  competition in October 2012 with the short story My Mother's Stars.

 

She also won the ‘Page of Prose’ competition at Winchester 2012 with So Close, which has been published in the conference anthology.

 

 

Other works by Lynette have been shortlisted as Highly Commended in Winchester Writers Conference competitions – Count On It a short story, in 2011; 'You Can’t Judge, a poem, in 2013; and the first three chapters of a work in progress - a children’s novel entitled The Curse of the Creepers.

 

Lynette's e-book Beautiful Evil, a teen fantasy romance, is currently available on a crowd sourced imprint with Swoon Reads until March 2014, where readers can access teen novels free and rate them, leading to possible cobnsideration for publication by Macmillan Press in the USA.

To read Beautiful Evil just click here to go direct to www.swoonreads.com

Lynette is currently developing The Curse of the Creepers in conjunction withThe Golden Egg Academy.

 

 

You Can't Judge

 

You can’t judge…

…until you have walked a mile in someone else’s shoes

We all know this is true.

But can I please judge a little…

 

Can I judge those with power over us who lie and fail and spin and fail, point the finger at the past the present, the future and fail

Can I judge the fat cat bowler hats whose safes aren’t safe from sticky paws, wide grins as they pocket bonuses we could never hope for

Can I judge the mass who harass, spew poison without reason

Can I judge dumbed-down, run-down, humdrum re-run TV, judge the shark attack car crash light entertainment, crowds jeering and leering as dirty laundry is aired and shared as ‘viewing’

Can I judge mobiles and ipads which eye block the faces of children, eyes up for attention wishing the batteries would die

Can I judge those who take and fake for their own sake, who lie and cry that they’re denied when give is something other people do

Can I judge those who hurt and pervert, destroy and toy with disposable childhoods

 

Walk a mile in their shoes? I could not do it.

To feel my feet fit, sit where their minds sit.

I would tire sucked into the mire, love drained, the only plug a drug, a moment of light and laughter paid for dearly

Am I perfect? I am not

But can I judge when I look in the mirror mirror on the wall, my eyes look back and answer all

Today I did my best, caused no one pain, and tomorrow I will try the same.  ©

 

So Close

                                                                                                     

It is these moments that I treasure, a tiny window of time in the moment between wakefulness and sleep, so brief it goes unnoticed by anyone but me.

 

Your eyes have closed and your breathing starts to deepen. I have seconds to catch it.

 

Sometimes I miss it in the exhaustion of being your mother. The isolation of your world fragments and meets the one in which I exist. My hand tentatively reaches for yours, resting on your duvet, fingers finally free of the frenetic fiddling of the day.

 

In the waking world my unwanted touch would be met with a scream of rage, a wild snatching of your hand back into your world where I cannot touch you. In this moment, my moment, I can touch your sleeping hand, slip my finger into your palm and wait.

 

“I love you,” I whisper and for a second there is a tiny part of my heart that strains to hear your reply. But you don’t speak…you never speak. Your eyes look through me, around me, over me, never at me but I know you see me.

 

It’s lonely watching you, fingers in front of your face, flickering in a shield that keeps the sounds, sights and smells of the world I brought you into at arms-length. I wish, so often wish, I could see through your eyes. What do I look like? Does your indifferent stare betray the child inside? Is the baby who could stare into my eyes for hours nestled in the crook of my arm still inside you? Is he locked up waiting for the moment when he can find a way out or is he gone? You babbled, you cooed, you smiled smiles that I ache for now, and then you stopped. The shutters came down and I felt you sink further away from me.

 

But here, here’s my moment, the memory of those heart melting smiles. You squeeze my finger curled against your palm, you squeeze it so tight and I choose to believe it says “I love you too.”

©                                                                                                         

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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