Deborah Robinson
Bio
I'm new to the 'writing for real' scene. Previously, I've kept my poetry and writing under wraps in a fancy notebook, but now I've decided to give it a proper go!
I hope you enjoy my work.
Thanks, Deborah.
Stories (73)
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Fun Prompts and Activities for When You Have Writer's Block
When I first started submitting to Vocal, I couldn't wait to sit down and write that poem, or that piece that I had been thinking about for a while. I would submit maybe two or three pieces a week, but as the weeks and months have passed, and now that I have submitted all eight pieces to the SFC, I find myself not knowing what to write about! And, I suppose, the SFC was a bit of a marathon, and maybe I'm just a little fatigued. So, if you're like me, and you need something to get you going again (creatively speaking!) then here are a few fun activities and prompts designed to be done in just ten minutes, to get the creative energy, and your pen, flowing again.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Motivation
The Orchard.
''Stop!'' A commanding masculine voice ordered. It was coming from behind me. I froze in fear and tried not to let the precious pears fall from my folded up shirt. Blood drained from my face, and my lips trembled with terror. Anyone caught stealing food from the orchards could be shot on sight. No questions asked. No mercy shown. A thief was a thief.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Fiction
An Eternity of Autumns.
I place my hand on the sheet of ice covering the small pond, but my skin can never thaw the silent, dormant layer. Below the frosted pane I can see tiny snails clinging to large pale pebbles, and dark sides of the plastic liner. Bubbles have been caught and suspended in the ice, and would have to wait for higher temperatures before they could be released from their icy prison.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Fiction
Drone Flies
When we think of 'flies', the image that comes to mind are those annoying blow-flies that somehow manage to get into a slither of space in a window, bash themselves about your house, trying to find a way back outside, yet can't seem to find their way out of two open doors, and several open windows! We think of pesky, dirty things we swat away. Things that carry disease and land on dirty things. Things that bite!
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Earth
To My Younger Self
Have you ever thought back to your younger years (I'm 41 now), and thought, 'I wish I wasn't so hard on myself then.' Or 'I wish I had've had more confidence in how I looked, and who I was'? I'll probably look back in another 20 or 30 years time (providing I make it that far), and say the same thing again about myself now. I'm still the frightened, self-conscious person I was, then, but I'm generally really happy, and I'm in a good place. Of course, we can never alter the past, but there are times when I wish the younger me could've seen that things would work out just fine. Imagine if you wrote her a letter. What would she think?
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Psyche
Don't Give Up!
'Unfortunately, at this time, you were unsuccessful, and we wish you the best of luck for the future.' Ugh! I don't know how many times I read that over the course of my so-called career. And, you know, it really did hurt each time. I don't know about you, but when I apply for a job, I see myself in it. I plan how I'll get there in the morning; what I might wear on my first day. Doesn't everyone do that? Or is it just me?
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Motivation
Most Days
Sometimes anxiety and depression come back. They arrive, and slap you up the face, reminding you that, in times of weakness, physical tiredness or emotional fatigue, they will sneak up, and slither into your mind, infecting all self worth. I keep reminding myself to 'ride it out', because it will pass. It may take some time, but it will pass.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Poets
Free Roaming.
I have had many pet rats over the years, and they never failed to delight me, from their little ratty faces and hands, to their abilities in climbing. They are intelligent little creatures, and I was always trying to find new ways of entertaining them. What they did love, was free-roaming time in a closed off room. This poem is about those times.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Poets
It's Time.
''Oh, crap! Run, Pixie! The bull has seen us.'' We took off, sprinting as fast as we could, adrenaline and panic pumping the blood faster to our legs. I leaped over fresh cow dung, buzzing with yellow flies, and tried to avoid the lumps and craters created by cows' hooves. The gate was just up ahead, set between coconut-scented gorse bushes.
By Deborah Robinson4 years ago in Fiction
