Showing posts with label #DecemberWEP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #DecemberWEP. Show all posts

Friday, 1 December 2023

WEP AND #IWSG DECEMBER - WEP BREAKING NEWS - THEN 'OVER TO YOU', MY FAVORITE MOVIE - THE SONG OF BERNADETTE

 Hello there!

Welcome to my last WEP entry. What's that? 

As many at the IWSG have been involved with WEP over the years I'm placing this information before my WEP entry which is below if you'd like to read it and call it my IWSG post. 



I'm not insecure about closing down WEP; I think the team has done a great job, been selfless in the interests of our writers for such a long time. But all good things must come to an end, even something as good as WEP.





This is our final WEP challenge, as after 13 years, WEP is closing down.

 This is partly due to the stressors on the team which have been relentless since Covid and are ongoing, and partly because of the drop in the number of participants this year.  We know many WEP members are experiencing their own stressors in the form of health challenges in themselves or family members which impacts their writing time.

 After much consideration, the WEP team concluded that this is the time to finish. Not exactly on a high, but not exactly at the bottom of our game.

 For thirteen years we have been a light for many struggling with their writing life, and many of you credit WEP with the improvement in your writing and confidence when submitting your work to publishers. This is what WEP set out to do and we can be happy in that we achieved the supportive writing community we set out to create. I know we could have done better in some areas, but due to time constraints we could not follow every avenue we would have liked.

 Thank you to all who have visited our website over the years and offered us words of encouragement and thank you to those who took up the challenges which made the hard work rewarding. Our wonderful judge, Nick Wilford, attests to the quality of WEP writing when he judges each challenge, so it’s not just us.

 A special thank you to those of you who have been with us for the whole journey and we’re sorry that closing down WEP will have a great impact, but all is not lost. More info on the WEP website.

 THE FUTURE OF THE WEP ANTHOLOGY

 The WEP anthology is going ahead at this stage, for publication in May 2024, but as yet we do not have enough entries to take it forward. The end of December is the close of submissions, but if you intend to submit, please send Nila your information. We need at least 14 more submissions to make the anthology viable. It will be a precious keepsake, so if you want to see your story included for perpetuity, gain a publishing credit, send it in!


The awesome co-hosts for the December 6 posting of the IWSG are C. Lee McKenzie, JQ Rose, Jennifer Lane, and Jacqui Murray!


~*~ WEP ~*~ WEP ~*~ WEP ~*~

Now, for Over to You, we have been asked to base our story on our favorite movie. 


From the WEP Challenges Page: So...will it be a romance? action-adventure? family drama? horror? Or will it be a comedy? tragedy? thriller?

I'm not absolutely sure how to categorize my entry - it's mostly fact, partly fiction, part essay with pictures...whatever...please enjoy,

A LITTLE BACKGROUND

I watched The Song of Bernadette with my sister when we were very young. I remember we bawled our eyes out afterward, and to this day it’s a movie I can’t forget.

The Song of Bernadette is a 1943 American biographicaldrama film based on the 1941 novel of the same name by Franz Werfel. It portrays the story of Bernadette Soubirous, who reportedly experienced eighteen visions of the Blessed Virgin Mary from February to July 1858 and was canonized in 1933.  

The novel was extremely popular, spending more than a year on The New York Times Best Seller list and thirteen weeks heading the list. The story was also turned into a Broadway play, which opened at the Belasco Theatre in March 1946. 


DISCLAIMER: I am not a Roman Catholic, but I was profoundly touched by this movie. I do believe in miracles however. In these troubled times, we need all the miracles we can get!


A Song of Miracles

Based on a true story


In the quaint town of Lourdes, nestled amidst the rolling hills of southwestern France, a sense of serenity lingered in the air undisturbed by the echoes of the past that reverberated through cobblestone streets and ancient stone buildings.


Lourdes, SW France

Amidst this peaceful setting lived a fourteen-year old girl named Bernadette Soubrirous. She was an ordinary peasant girl, but the richness of her spirit made her extraordinary. Little did she or the townsfolk know her life would soon become entwined with the miraculous.

Bernadette Soubrirous

“Bernadette! Go fetch some firewood,” was her mother’s cry each evening. “Stop your dreaming, silly girl.”

Bernadette did not mind the menial task or the sharpness of her mother’s tongue. She loved to ramble beside the river, admire the wildlife and discover secret grottos nestled in its rocky banks.

It was an ordinary day when it happened.

Bernadette wandered along the banks of the Gave River collecting firewood for her family. Distracted by a strange breeze and a change in the light, she discovered a hidden grotto. Intrigued by its mysterious aura, she felt an inexplicable urge to linger. It was as if an unseen force beckoned her to stay.

Before her eyes, a vision appeared. A beautiful lady clad in white stood on a rock niche. Bernadette fell to her knees. When she looked up, the lady had disappeared.

I will come to this magic grotto every day, Bernadette whispered. As God is my witness, I will see you again.

Soon, whispers of an ethereal presence spread. Some of the townsfolk doubted Bernadette’s visions, while others believed, but there was an undeniable sense of magic in the air.

“Maman,” Bernadette said after seeing the vision several times, “I have witnessed a beautiful lady bathed in light by the river, who spoke to me with a voice as gentle as the breeze.”

“Enough of your silliness, my girl.” Her mother tossed her bright red hair. “Go fetch more firewood or you will go hungry tonight.” She grabbed Bernadette’s arm. “And stay away from the river.”

Bernadette, true to her vow, repeatedly visited the grotto despite her mother's warning.

The citizens of Lourdes stopped her in the streets as she made her way to the river. 

“Come with me. See the lady for yourself,” she told them.

On one visit, the lady asked Bernadette to drink and wash at a seemingly non-existent spring. Bernadette obediently dug a hole in the ground with her fingers and smeared her face with dirt.

“Ha! See! A charlatan, a trickster, an imbecile!” some onlookers cried, but their ridicule changed to wonder when water began to flow from the hole, and later to exaltation when its miraculous healing properties cured the sick amongst them.

Even more people flocked to Lourdes to witness these miracles for themselves.

The news of Bernadette's visions reached the ears of the town mayor, the sceptical Alphonse Lacade. Intrigued yet doubtful, he decided to investigate for himself.

“Do you truly see visions?” he asked Bernadette, trying to discern the truth behind her extraordinary tale. “I see sincerity in your eyes and you exhibit an unwavering conviction in your voice. I am truly baffled. This tale cannot be true.”

“My tale is true,” she said. “I know they say I’m just a poor girl who has never suffered. Why was I chosen to receive visitations from the Lady? I cannot explain. I only believe.”

The mayor doubted.

Many did not.

Soon the Massabielle grotto, became a place of pilgrimage. People from far and wide travelled to witness the miracles whispered to occur in Lourdes.



“Help me. Carry me to the waters,” the sick and blind cried.

“I need solace,” wept a young mother, clutching her children’s hands as she took her turn at the stream. “My husband has died. The mysterious Lady's presence comforts me.”

Bernadette watched in wonder as miracles occurred, overcoming scepticism and scrutiny.


Jennifer Jones as Bernadette


The hoards believed what they were seeing and spoke to Bernadette. “We have witnessed the inexplicable: the blind seeing, the lame walking, and the hopeless finding newfound hope. Bernadette, your song is our song.”

The grotto transformed into a sanctuary of faith and miracles, with countless pilgrims kneeling, praying, watching and spreading the good news.

“The whole world needs these miracles,” they told each other. “Look at Brother John. How long has he lay abed? Now he walks.”

Soon the kneeling believers were joined by men in robes standing behind them, watching those who could not walk, walk, those who could not see, see. They were a delegation of priests of the Catholic Church, cautious and measured, sent to investigate the authenticity of the young girl's apparitions. They spent hours questioning Bernadette and examining the witnesses, and deliberated over the inexplicable events unfolding in Lourdes.

In the end, after countless interviews and miraculous healings, the Church recognized the supernatural occurrences as genuine.

“We cannot doubt when before our eyes we see the lame walk and the blind see as Jesus promised. These visions are indeed a divine intervention. Even the mayor is now humbled by the inexplicable beauty of these miracles that have unfolded in his small town. We must see to the Lady’s canonization and build a sanctuary to The Lady of Lourdes.”

The Sanctuary to The Lady of Lourdes

The Song of Bernadette echoed throughout Lourdes, immortalizing the faith and resilience of a young girl who, against all odds, became the vessel for miracles. The grotto, once a hidden gem, now stood as a symbol of hope, drawing pilgrims from every corner of the globe.

The priests declared she must enter a convent. “You must spend your days in reflection and prayer with the Sisters of Charity of Nevers.” 

And so, in the heart of Lourdes, amidst the timeless hills and the flowing Gave River, the melody of miracles continued its song, carried on the wings of belief and the echoes of a song that transcended the boundaries of the ordinary.

Bernadette herself refused to take the miraculous waters when a tumor grew in her leg. On her deathbed, she sorrowfully maintained that she may never see the lady again. However, the lady appeared in her room, smiled, and gestured to Bernadette. Bernadette joyfully cried out to the apparition before she took her last breath.

The last words Bernadette heard: "You are now in Heaven and on earth. Your life begins, O Bernadette."

According to the RC Church over 7,000 people have been cured at Lourdes ...


 

 

TAGLINE: Do you believe in magic? The miraculous? The humble being exalted?


Thanks for visiting!


Denise


Wednesday, 5 December 2018

#IWSG - December - My writing space - WEP/IWSG news - WEP/IWSG December Challenge

Hello all!

December. Time for some of us to finish work for the year. Prepare for Christmas festivities. And holidays.

It's also time for the December WEP/IWSG challenge. It went live on December 1, and we hope for early entries this month, starting on December 1, otherwise we'll be reading, judging etc during our Christmas dinner. There are already entries up. Click on any name with a DL (Direct Link) included. This means the entry is posted! My entry is up -- next post -- if you'd like to read my attempt at a sci-fi flash fiction~


It's time for the IWSG posts.

Top Site for Writers


Alex's awesome co-hosts for the December 5 posting of the IWSG are J.H. Moncrieff, Tonja Drecker , Patsy Collins, and Chrys Fey!

The suggested question for the month is:

December 5 question - What are five objects we'd find in your writing space?

Half of the week I work in Brisbane. The other half I relax at Peregian Beach. In Brisbane I write at the State Library overlooking the Brisbane River before I begin tutoring. In Peregian, I have #ARoomofmyOwn, called Den's Den which overlooks the Pacific Ocean which is always inspirational with whales, sailboats, hang-gliders...

5 Objects in my writing space (other than laptop I guess, cuz we all have something to write on)...

1.  2 whiteboards with my current projects and plotting ideas.

2. Hundreds of books - real paper ones - favorite reads I'm keeping, vintage Shakespearean plays and other old school textbooks, craft books, reference books, travel diaries, travel narratives, travel magazines, notebooks - from conferences, writing groups, critique groups, my own notes...

3. French figurines and artworks I study while I'm looking for inspiration for my French novels.

4. A foot massager under my desk - not human, LOL, a wooden one.

5. An air conditioner and fan without which I could not write.


  • How about you? What do you have in your writing space?
  • How's your December shaping up?
  • What're your  goals for 2019?

Now, the IWSG and the WEP team have been busy this past month.

The IWSG held a competition, open to all, for the best writing prompt to kick off 2019 in February. They graciously offered a prize. The WEP team chose an entry by Toinette Thomas, 28 DAYS. 



There was an in-house competition between the IWSG admin to come up with the best prompt for December 2019. The winner was Tyrean Martinson. The WEP team liked her suggestion, FOOTPRINTS.



Now we have all the prompts and blurbs in the bag for 2019. Here is the year badge. You can go HERE and read the blurbs. It will be an exciting year for the WEP/IWSG partnership. I hope you'll join us. 

We'd love it if you shared the badge on your blog or facebook etc.



If you haven't joined the WEP mailing list, it's a great way to get reminders of challenges, winners and guest posts. Go HERE and sign up!

Thanks for coming by!







Saturday, 1 December 2018

My #WEP/IWSG Writing Together post for December. My #sci-fi #flashfiction. The Big Empty,

Hi friends!

Time for the December WEP/IWSG 'writing together' competition. The challenge is Ribbons and Candles. The blurb said:

Perfect for the festival/festive season. Perfect also for flashes not themed around festivities or holidays. All prompts here work year-round and are pan-global. Genre, themes, settings, mood, no bar. Only the word count counts. And you could ignore that too and come in with a photo-essay or art, minimal words required.

A party. A power-cut. Gift-giving. Hair braids. Ribbons of roads, rivers, paper, love, hope. Candles in the room. Candles in the church. Candles in the wind. And any combo thereof. It could go in a thousand different directions, choose yours and step outside the square!

So I've come up with a sci-fi flash. Yep, you read that right. I'm no sci-fi writer, but I've just finished a year which as always included teaching George Orwell's 1984. Some of his invented words influenced me to write this little story. Yep. Another incarnation of Winston and Julia? Don't bother critiquing it; just enjoy it if you can!

This December we ask you to please post your stories from December 1st as we'll all be busy doing holiday things.




The Big Empty


Edward saw that life on Xcelsior, which privately he called the Big Empty, was slowly emptying the life out of Rachel. Since her arrival, she had grown skinny, her complexion pale, and the eyes that looked at him from under her dank, brown hair tied in bunches with little red ribbons, were gray mist, lost and sad. Yet despite her lack of physicality, he experienced strange emotions every time he saw her. Something grew in his chest and moved upwards, causing his throat to close each time they rode the travellator to work.

Rachel. Thoughtful. Secretive. He counted it as extraordinary luck that they worked side by side – she the romance writer, he the poet.

Both had been shipped to Xcelsior, she from Bandanland, he from Paradox 21, to help prepare for the Annual Holiday Gathering and End of Year ReBooting of Minds.

‘We need your pens to create uplifting, soulful words for the season of celebration,’ the Grand Leader said when he met with them in his grandiose office pod penthouse in the grandiose structure called New Mind Central.
Rachel was quite famous on Bandanland and beyond for her romance volumes which were widely distributed in special reading pods. Her exquisite words filled a void in the population who suffered from a surfeit of technological breakthroughs, whose regimented lives permitted no time for reality romance. Indeed, in Rachel’s first lecture addressing the New Politic, she’d waxed eloquent on the need for love and romance in people’s lives to make a sterile world palatable.
Edward had studiously kept his face passive. He’d seen the Grand Leader and his minions frowning as she spoke. He saw it written on their faces – finding partners for the populace is our domain.
‘I cannot understand your poetry,’ she confessed during Social Time afterwards.
‘Few people can.’ He was a pedant, but the poems he penned for the Grand Leader were empty, soulless, utilitarian. The poems in his head were a different thing entirely. Thirty-first-century poets in the Poleaxer Galaxy were an obscure animal, even more unknown and irrelevant than their predecessors on the defunct planet Old Earth from which the Incarnates sprang.
‘Come with me.’ He leaned against a glass wall impregnated with bright flickering candles which reminded him of drunken slithering snakes. She leaned against him, the candlelight flickering over her face and lighting up her red ribbons like they buzzed with static electricity. It unnerved him, so he upended his glass of Health-Giving Herbal Tincture and swallowed the ghastly green goop in one greedy gulp.
‘I miss having someone who knows who Shakespeare was,’ Edward said, trying not to burp, well aware he had just committed Thoughtcrime. ‘I recite his sonnets every morning. It helps me retain a little of my soul.’
‘Looking around me,’ Rachel whispered, ‘I don’t see anyone who appears to have a soul.’
Rachel’s face seemed lacking in some way. Her muscles and tendons were strung out and defined, but didn’t really support her face frame. Odd. Was she a reincarnation? Or a robot?
She twirled one of her ribbons and his throat dried up despite the green goop. ‘The only thing I find scintillating is literature and –‘
‘And?’ There was that unfamiliar pumping feeling in his wellspring, that strange bellyfeel. Was it those red ribbons in her hair? He wanted to tug at each one and see her dank hair fall to her waist.
Edward decided that despite it being a sexcrime and despite her odd face, he was going to ask her to commit Goodsex with him, even though they could be relegated to the status of Unpersonhood for such a crime.
If the Love Ministry spies heard his next words, he’d be subjected to ReOrientation Activity Class after work each day.
‘I want to love and romance you,’ he said, his eyes flicking around the room nervously. He could be locked away until early in the Next Year because everyone would be too busy to think about him. They would be practicing Relaxation and ReCommuning and Mindfulness to prepare them for new great adventures while he languished in the prison pod.
Rachel smiled and patted his hand. ‘Sweet Edward.’
Then Edward understood why her face seemed curious and incomplete. Her face was a superstructure which until now had never supported a smile.
Leaving the drunken snakes impersonating candles behind, they returned to Edward’s pod and made Goodsex together. It was then clear to him what that something was that grew in his chest and closed his throat every time he saw Rachel. L-o-v-e.
Next morning, those first moments as they found their table for the Early Rising Egg Nog and Pancakes were like a new, exciting dance for Edward. It was the Xcelsior Annual Holiday Gathering and End of Year Resetting of Minds’s Eve. They sipped historic Egg Nog which originated on the Old Earth, followed by Xcelsior’s chef’s attempt at pancakes drowned in manufactured sweetener based on the honey also found on Old Earth.
The fat, yellow drink and the sweet pancakes brought a sparkle to Rachel’s cheeks. Edward thought: This is what it feels like to be alive. I never knew this feeling inside before.
As she nibbled pancakes and stared into his eyes, Edward bravely decided it was time.
‘Rachel, I want to share one of my poems from inside my head where it's been ever since I boarded the ship to Xcelsior.’
‘The Big Empty
by Edward Colterman
If I ventured into the Big Empty,
I would kiss the
fall of your hair; I would lie
beside you in the silence of candlelight,
and trace with my fingertip your lips’
surge and fall, the ribbons in your hair.
I would pull you gently from
the undermass,
the crystal and stone, like a spiderweb
from foliage, like
breath from a sleeper.
If I ventured to the Big Empty,
I would never stop looking for
you.’
‘Now that I have found you, Rachel, I am not empty anymore.’

With thanks to Tony Daniel, whose poem I adjusted.

996 WORDS - Comments only as this story isn't going anywhere...

Many thanks for coming by and reading. Click on names with a DL after them in my sidebar.