Writespiration #77 Going To Your Happy Place

Happy PlaceThis week has been miserable. I have had a migraine since Friday last week. Which means I haven’t written since Thursday. I am twitchy! But I was barely able to get out of bed over the weekend and at times, I genuinely thought I might pop an eyeball out, my head was under that much pressure. Every movement I made I could feel my heartbeat in my brain, only instead of a nice pump, pump, pump. It was the smash and squeeze of an anvil followed by a car crusher. Suffice to say I am glad I schedule posts or I’d be fresh out this week.

Finally, I can see straight enough to write this. So, this week, the challenge is to write about your happy place (or a character’s happy place).

I needed my happy place this week. I had to drift off in order to ignore the pain. I have a couple of happy places, one in my head, and several actual locations. New York for one, a cafe by myself, coffee in hand laptop open is another. The summit of Kala Phattar a mountain in the Himalayas with the best views of Everest.

In your challenge, make sure we know what sent you to your happy place, was it a fight? a traumatic experience? Or maybe love drove you there. So, that’s it. Happy places in less than 200 words.

First in from last weeks entries about a struggle is Geoffle, with a rather odd little tale from two kitties.

For the love of a good cat by Geoff Le Pard

Even at the start Sheila knew Martin was going to be a problem. Indifferent to her affection he spent most days outdoors. He moaned for food and then disappeared. It was different with visitors – mother especially. He was on her lap and purring before she’d taken off her initial disappointment.
His death was quick – a moment’s inattention and the paper boy’s bicycle. Sheila had no plans for a replacement until Marjory begged her to take one from a large litter.
At first Sheila was delighted. Affectionate, Mabel was all Martin was not. But gradually delight turned to despair. Mabel had a conscience. Every crippled mouse, battered vole and screwed up shrew was dragged, mostly reluctantly, through the cat flap and nurtured by the fire. The patients mostly died of fright, what with two green eyes staring at them constantly but Mabel kept trying.
When the house began to smell of rot Sheila understood her problem. Mabel buried her dead indoors with the same care as she sought to save them. While Sheila hunted, Mabel nurtured, each aware that their own struggle was futile and doomed to fail but no less compelling for that.

Next in Judy, with this hilarious poem full of naughty words and girl power.

When it’s time to’ man up’

We are told to ‘grow to a pair’

Balls will make us stronger

But that’s not very fair!

Why are they so special?

To make us act so tough

In those awful moments

When life gets really rough.

Gonads are quite tender

And one kick in the jewels

Can render someone helpless

Plus make them look such fools!

Women are much stronger

There are no ifs and buts.

We have to push a child out

Despite the rips and cuts

You don’t find women fretting

On having to wear a box

Scared that being sporty

Will break their precious cocks!

If you want to show some strength

Balls are pretty minor

I suggest you ‘woman up’

Grow yourself a  vagina!

Next Jane, with a heartbreaking tale that sent me right back to my own childhood and having to say goodbye.  jane also gave us a little teaser of her up coming book… check it out here.

Ginger was dead. Betty wasn’t allowed to touch the broken body. She wanted to wipe away the blood smears but she was afraid of hurting the cat even more. Her father had scraped him onto an old towel and they were going to bury him in the garden. Betty watched as her father dug the hole, but more than her father, she watched the towel and the paw sticking out with the delicate pink pads. They looked so perfect and alive. She crouched down and reached out a finger to touch them, one after the other. Still soft and a bit spongy. But cold.

Mr Ritchie across the road had run over Ginger while he was backing out of his garage. He’d said sorry. He’d gone now, off to the supermarket as if nothing had happened. But he’d said sorry. Betty ought to have forgiven him because that’s what you did when people said they were sorry. But if he was sorry, why didn’t he cry like she had done? Why had he gone off to Tesco thinking about cornflakes and soap powder?

She must have been glowering because her father stopped digging and came over to give her a hug.

“It wasn’t his fault, you know. He just didn’t see Ginger in the driveway. He was very sorry about it.”

Betty said nothing. Mr Ritchie was sorry, but not sorry enough. People who are sorry enough don’t do the things that would make them sorry. She looked at the towel and the very slight hump that the squashed cat made inside it. She looked at the beautiful pink pads and she sobbed. Mr Ritchie was sorry. But Ginger was still dead.


Jane Entered another piece this week, a struggle reunited from her upcoming book. Check out the cover, its WELL COOL

Footsteps rang out on the walkway, echoing in the caverns of the empty boutiques. Carla stiffened and grabbed Kat’s arm.

“Ratmen?” she whispered.

Kat listened. The footsteps continued, lots of feet, stealthy almost, nervous.


They moved away from the yawning gap of the hall below, where pieces of safety rail swung free, into the squealing scuffling shadows… Carla shuddered at the memory, the long twitching nose, sloping forehead, the big ears and bristle-covered face. She shuddered at the terror in those mad eyes. Kat had killed it and it had screamed like a child.

The footsteps stopped. Ahead in the shadows, deeper shadows waited. Carla held her breath. A single shadow moved forward.



She forced herself not to run to him.


She could see him now, his face, his eyes.

No! You don’t care!

She clenched her fists, clenched her eyes tight closed. But she still saw him, the gentle eyes full of…sorrow.

“Carla,” he whispered and she could feel his breath on her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears squeezed from behind her lids. She sobbed as her clenched fists beat his chest then opened, pulling him towards her, his face, as damp as hers.

Next up, Ali, with this beautiful achievement thats a true story. Love a happy ending

The phone is ringing. The new girl sits at her desk looking at it, face scarlet. I pause, half hidden behind a tall shelf unit, and watch; her third day, and she still hasn’t answered the phone.

Suzie, her mentor, turns to me questioningly, but I shake my head. She says something to the girl and smiles, but her eyes are glued to the phone in terror, and she doesn’t see.

It’s only a phone, I murmur, willing her to pick up. The phone rings and rings. Its persistent tone is starting to irritate; more than a few annoyed faces glance her way across the office.

Was I wrong about her, I wonder.

Slowly, her hand reaches out and hovers above the receiver, as if she half expects it will leap up and bite. Then she lunges forward and answers. She speaks self-consciously into the mouthpiece, frowning in concentration, presses a button, and her voice floats loud and clear over the tannoy.

“Ph-ph-ph-phonecall on line one for Miss Isaac.”

Her colleagues erupt in applause, and I go forward to congratulate her. She is beaming with pride. Such a small achievement, you might think, but for someone with a stutter, it is Everest.





  1. Yep Judy hit it, though Ali gets the ‘Aww cute!’ Award. Happy place? Wherever Linda is. 31 years, 8 months 7 days and as I type this 19 hours married. Counting? Me? How’s that for cheese, though it is true.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. I keep counting! Though I still kick myself I cannot recall the time of the exact moment we met. I know where, about midday, on a weekday in October 1976 but the actual day.. Nope.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I was signing people up to the lawclub at Bristol Uni. I was treasurer in my second year and she was in her freshers week at the fresher’s fayre or faffy squash as it was called back then. She bounded up, a huge doctor who scarf wrapped round her neck, huge blue eyes behind her milk bottle specs and a grin you could see from space… Swoon!

        Liked by 2 people

  2. Glad to hear you are mobile again. I actually started to feel guilty adding comments as I was afraid that you might have notifications on and were stuck listening to the various pings. Then it occurred to me that I was actually asking you to read a screen. As a fellow sufferer of migraines, I just want to say how sorry I am for asking you to do that. Glad to hear you are doing better.

    I was sent to Lake Como in Italy on business. Yes, it is truly tough to be me some days. After a long day featuring a million cups of espresso and maybe a meeting or two, I was taken to a restaurant with a view of the snow-capped Alps reflecting off the water. I wasn’t able to understand anything my host said and he and the waiter exchanged pleasantries, but soon I was given a bowl of freshly caught perch, straight from the lake, mixed in a saffron risotto. A glass of wine followed and then another. I now know exactly what I am ordering if I ever find myself on death row. It was almost worth committing a crime.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Haha, don’t feel bad! I LOVE comments and making friends with people so I love that you took the time to comment. I did end up not replying to lots of comments for a while though.

      Wow to Italy on business?!!!!! you are a lucky girl, what do you do? wow, sounds like it was a stunning view, and (although I don’t actually eat fish, it still sounded like a fab meal) ❤ That is a happy place


      1. I’m in engineering and project management for a contract manufacturing firm and was visiting a factory.

        My trips usually aren’t all that glamorous, but that was a nice one.

        It was good enough you might just have reconsidered your position on fish.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Ohhh a female Engineer – love this. Not enough of them if you ask me. I only know two other female engineers – in comparison to a whole heap of male ones. Sigh.

        haha, not sure about reconsidering but appreciate from afar maybe 😀 :p

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Yup. I went to a huge public university and yet I was only one of six women in most of my classes. Many of the places I visit only have a women’s restroom in the reception area.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. HA! And now we are completely off the topic of your original post. It is a university because it contained several distinct colleges (4 year+ programs) within the campus all with their own leadership. College of Engineering. College of Design. College of Business. Etc. Mine is public because it is affiliated with the State of North Carolina and therefore partially subsidized which keeps the cost to only an arm and a leg versus the addition of a kidney or two. Private schools are not affiliated with the state which can give them additional freedoms, but tend to cost more to attend due to the lack of subsidies.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. OMG are you from North Carolina? I seriously swear to god, half…. no 75% of the American people I know are either from NC or have huge connections there. What is it with NC?!!!!!!

        We used to have an accessible system here, but a few years ago they took the cap off the fees and now kids are saddled with 40-50,000 quids worth of debt (I think 60-70 thousand dollars) before they start life. I think its disgusting, education should be free. But then I know you guys have crazy debt there too.

        Liked by 2 people

      6. No joke! Seriously like everyone I know is from NC!! But they don’t have much equality there… Apparently if your gay you can’t have kids…. 😱😱😱😱


      7. Thanks chick. I do actually want to visit as it happens, but I’d need a month I literally know that many people from there. You know I think I am just going to start any conversation from now on with any American I meet

        “Hi, nice to meet you, you’re from North Carolina right?!”

        Liked by 1 person

      8. Half of NYC relocated to NC, that’s why! 😀 An exaggeration but everyone I know from NC used to live in NYC. You know me…I’m from Idaho but my kin, my kin is deep roots mountain-folk North Carolina!

        Liked by 1 person

      9. Right… Exactly and about a billion other Americans I know are from there too. No word of a lie I think about 75% of the Americans I know are from there or have a significant link to it. I see the connection now though… I am obsessed with NYC it’s like the best place in the world.

        FYI I haven’t ignored your entry, I just read them all and write the writespirations on Tuesday’s – all for routine me! 😂

        Liked by 1 person

  3. Okay, Sacha, looks like another instalment in my vampire story. Maybe I’ll end up writing the whole thing as a series of blog challenges! 🙂 xx

    I’m alone in the dark. I hate it. My mother makes me do this, my eyes straining until red blooms in the darkness. As if it’s going to make any difference whatsoever.
    I’m human.
    No matter what she does, or how much she loves me, it’s not going to change. So when she leaves, silken wings rustling, I turn inwards. To my happy place.
    But something’s different.
    My happy place is full of sunshine, golden green leaves above me, shafts of light coming through the trees. The air is fresh and I laugh as I run along the trail, my lack of speed and strength and night vision no problem here, an escape from the guilt of being such a disappointment.
    So why the hell am I back in the club? It’s all smoke and red leather and the scent of blood, music pounding in time with my heart.
    His eyes are silver grey, his lips parting as he turns. As he comes closer I can see his fangs have dropped. I lick my lips, hoping the anti-feed spray is still working. I can feel his heat, blood-warm and ice-cold. He reaches out to touch me.
    My new happy place.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Ooooooooooooh this is deepening. I like this A LOT. It’s so graphic and deep already – how’d u do that?

      You should definitely do it. I’m doing it using Charli’s prompts and she’s started one using mine! It’s like cheating on your WIP but in a good way!! 😂😂

      Liked by 2 people

      1. Thanks Sacha – I’m so pleased you like it. And honestly, it just came to me like that. I’ve been thinking a bit about the character I wrote for Ali’s challenge originally, and I guess this scene is the next bit. So we’ll see – I’ll have to keep going with the challenges for sure, it’s a great way to get the WIP going!

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Yup. I have migraines. They’re brutal. Wrote a post about it. Anyway, glad you’re feeling better. Great entries this week. I might give this one a go. Although I don’t know where I’ll go… To hell? Might be a step up. 😉 I’m not as romantic as Geoff here… We’ll see.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Haven’t posted it yet. Wrote it forever ago, though, so should get on that. O_o Here’s my attempt. A quickie.

        – Joint Pain –

        I don’t have a happy place.

        I saw someone talking about it in a dumb Disney movie. Can’t remember which one. They’re always on in the background at Sam’s house. His little sister watches those things like her life depends on it. Shit, maybe it does. What do I know? Maybe that’s her happy place. Maybe that’s her lifeline or something. Hell of a lot better than mine. Or Sam’s.

        He hands me the joint he lifted from his mum’s purse. I fish matches out of my pocket and we wait for the smoke to kill the stench of neglect and the pain of our bruises to fade.

        Liked by 3 people

  5. You poor thing! Migraines are horrendous – and a several day one would probably have me going in for a spot of self decapitation.

    I LOVE the gonads poem – in fact, I think it is my new happy place…

    Liked by 1 person

      1. The doctor used to say it was my sinuses but he changed his mind when I had treatment to clear all the polyps or whatever and the migraines persisted. They’re just migraines. I get them. And I zap them with drugs.

        Liked by 1 person

  6. Here’s my real life thoughts for this week’s prompt.


    She is everywhere in the house, Georgette. Not surprising since she lived here for ninety-seven years. There’s a photo of her on the wall, as well as her parents and husband. No children though. She lived here alone with the two cows until her nephew persuaded her to move to a flat where he could keep an eye on her. There’s a smell of sprightly old lady and cats. Her chair by the stove has a ball of knitting wool shoved down the side. The messages about groceries and visits stuck on the wall by the phone still shout out that life goes on.
    In the garden, her bulbs are coming up. In the cowshed, the hay bales smell fresh and spring-like. There is no feeling of emptiness or sadness, but expectancy. What is the house waiting for?
    She has left a trail, determined and defiant, as if she has just gone down to the shop to buy a packet of coffee.
    We’ll take good care of your house, Georgette.
    I make a promise to visit her in her new flat, show her how life has forged another link, and take her the first narcissi.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. Migraines suck. I hope your eyeballs are feeling less pressured. My sister-in-law suffers and she swears by ice on the back of the neck. Going to a happy place is a good idea. Jen needs it today. Not looking good at the logging camp…

    Bumping Knots by Charli Mills

    Jen worked her way down the log, hacking each branch with swift strokes. Her axe sliced raw wood, leaving a bump where once a branch grew. Sap like blood pooled, scenting the air with pine. Without pausing, Jen inhaled the natural perfume. Each step in her laced-up boots was sturdy, her feet knew the way and her thighs tingled with exertion to stay balanced while moving. By the time she reached the end of one log, she’d jump to the next one the draft horses skidded to the landing.

    Bumping knots was her happy place.

    Breakfast had been a disaster. Schnatterly, the dandy mine owner, showed up to rally the loggers into providing more logs for his flume. Investors were anxious for return on the gold in Boulder Creek, he claimed. Jen’s uncle didn’t like Schnatterly, and this morning the odious man announced his mine now owned the logging operation. Her uncle stood like deadwood. Worse, when Jen rose to refill her coffee, Schnatterly noticed her. Noticed she was female. “You can serve coffee to the room, Hefier.” Her cheeks had burned. Now the sawyers were all calling her Heifer. Demanding coffee.

    She continued to swing her axe instead.

    Liked by 1 person

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