Archive for September, 2010

This weekend a group of dedicated writers will descend on London for the “Getting published” event.

Harry Bingham, of Writers’ Workshop / Word Cloud and author of  The Writers’ & Artists’ Guide to Getting Published, has organised the event to coincide with the launch of his aforementioned book. It looks to be an informative and exciting day and night.

A few months ago I was introduced to the Word Cloud by a fellow author and friend, and have not looked back. The people who frequent the site are helpful, creative and professional individuals with a real love of the written word. I would recommend you visit the site and judge for yourselves.


An excellent evening and great opportunity for all artists in the local area

Yesterday evening I was invited to attend the official launch of Tamworth Artswitch, this is Tamworth Borough Councils Art Network for any business or individual connected to the arts. Thankfully, this now seems to include writers. Considering Tamworth is known as the creative county, I have to say that I had never seen any evidence to back up the reasoning behind the name, but that is all about to change. This is an exciting time for artists living in the area and I am happy to count myself as one of them. Well done to the team at the council for an informative and exciting evening.

As I get out of my Dad’s van and look into the sky, what do I see?

But a huge black and yellow furry thing, flying straight at me

Tiny lacy wings vibrating either side,

A humongous dangerous sword attached to it’s rear hide.

How does it keep that body flying through the air?

As the bumble bee gets closer, I find I do not care.

With a deafening buzzing sound filling up my ears,

My legs begin to move fast, cranking up the gears.

Running doesn’t help, the buzzing is close behind,

There’s no way i’m looking back, i’m scared of what i’ll find.

That poisonous sword, thrusting, stabbing for my rear,

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, that buzzing is so near.

Running round the nearest tree and peeking through a branch,

I find I cannot see the bee and decide to take a chance.

Hands at the ready, one on each bum cheek,

Heart pounding in my chest, thumping out each beat.

“Go!” I shout at myself, and run as fast as I can,

How long will it take me to get back to Dad’s safe van?

Breathless, hot and sweaty, with hands shielding my butt,

I charge across the green so hard I cause pains inside my gut.

Twigs and branches all around, broken on the ground,

Tripping over one of them, I land with a thwumping sound.

Buzzing close overhead is some black and yellow fur,

Not one, not twenty, but hundreds of them creating a smoke-like blur.

Not looking seems like a good idea, so I close my teary eyes,

When all of a sudden someone talks to me and takes me by surprise.

“Why are you running? And what is your name?” A tiny voice squeaks,

Opening my eyes and looking around, I find I cannot speak.

On my chest as bold as brass and the size of a small rat,

Is the cutest, fluffiest bumble bee wearing a furry high top hat.

“I’m pleased to meet you, my name’s Buz” He says with a friendly smile,

Were he not sitting on my chest, I would’ve run a mile.

“J-J-Jay” I reply, trying to be brave but quivering all over,

“Friends?” He calls as he’s taking off, waving over his shoulder.

What was I scared of? I think to myself as I stand and watch the bees,

Flying off towards their hive, high up in the trees.

K L Hansen