Black Dog

The Black dog has prevented me from writing a plog, for some time.

My life continues, I have now written two complete and one partial story where a child or two, wonder into 52c, (see prologue, below) touch an object which becomes a portal to real place such as Timbuktu in Mali or Bacolod in the Philippines, where they have unique experiences. I am in the process of looking for a children’s editor who will help me make the stories grammatically and logical correct and therefore hopefully appealing to a publisher. An area I feel very insecure because of past and present experiences with Dyslexia.

I now have a fourth adventure in mind; created from my recent month in Ethiopia and their Christmas celebration amongst the carved stone churches of Lalibela  which they celebrate on the 7th January (I plan on writing a separate blog about this amazing experience in the very near future)


52c was a place where life thrived, in their individual way. A place so unusual that even google maps, didn’t recognize its existence, where number 52c should have been marked there was just an absolutely empty lot.

But 52c was a block in a street like any other.

A street, where lawns were mowed, gardens clipped, paths swept and households knew what was expected; nothing would dare to be out of place and nothing was.

Except 52c, sprawling its presence beyond the council marked boundary.

 Kids riding bikes increased their speed as they approached 52c, the raised roots of its trees sending their bikes at irregular angles. Mothers with babies crying in prams would roll the prams back and forwards over the roots, knowing but not understanding why, their babies soon fell asleep.  Even from a distance, the overhanging plants appeared alive, with their branches reaching out to touch those who dared to pause too close.

The trees of 52c provided a shelter for birds, where constant treetop chatter, would drown out the noise of surrounding suburban taming machines, of Lawn mowers and whipper snippers.

It was unsettling, neighbors said, things lived at 52c without boundaries of concrete and weed killer.

These days I am more aware of how damaging people’ preconceptions are, especially when they affect how people interrelate with each other. Through my stories I hope to empower fringe people (those that for or reason or another do not feel that they belong), that they are of wonderful value.





3 Responses to “Black Dog”

  1. Michele Seminara Says:

    52c sounds intriguing Anita, well done, and good luck with it!

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