I don’t care what you think….much

I’m not blogging about any of this Valentine’s day claptrap! Just kiddin’, but seriously, I’m not….I’m going to blog about something intrinsic to the majority of human beings –

It is interesting that we all care what people think isn’t it? ….scratch that…..It’s ANNOYING!

Why is it that we are exactly what Mumford & Sons sing in this song ‘You Liar’? –

I’ve come to realise that everyone cares what others think, even those who pretend they don’t. I had this epiphany while blow drying my hair the other day and finding the perfect vantage point from which my thighs looked the smallest by systematically taking mental pictures of them as I gradually bent over…….Yes…. I did that….

Goodness I am strange…A loser, if you will (and here I am caring what you think).

It makes me laugh when I ‘people-watch’ (note to self: laughing alone in public makes me look insane), and I see people who are clearly wild cards, dressing a little crazy in a voice that mentally shouts ‘I don’t give a fiddlesticks what you think.’ :

I don't care what you think - Philippa Keyworth - Author
HAHAHA – This was the least offensive picture I could find….Lady GaGa in Madam Tussuads

And you know what? They ARE caring what people think, because they want you to think they don’t care – GET IT? How funny is that?!?

So maybe the person who blends into the crowd is the one who really doesn’t care? :

Doubt it, I reckon they want people to think their normal and they’re worried that if they wear or say anything too outlandish people will think they’re weird (like me)…

The reason I say all this is because my characters, the ones I write, my ultimate heroines, the heroine I want to be; simply doesn’t care what other people think. It would make life SOOO much easier, less complicated because I could still be nice but without the constant mental worrying about what others are thinking. Isn’t it amazing that the person I most want to be – the heroine I always write, is someone who cares nought for other’s opinions?

Well that’s writing for you I guess – Writing a ‘better’ version of reality…

[Blog Ends Here]
Here’s the next instalment of the story series as requested (last instalment can be found here:

ONE MONTH Later – Where the story really gets started…

“Look I don’t know what you’re talking about man.”

Ice water was poured over my head again. I tried to struggled free of the bonds that bound me but if I really tried to get free I would morph and that’d be it. Caught.

“Go on struggle, show me what else you can do.” the dark man ground out through his teeth. How did he know so much? I pretended the weak girl thing and went limp, helpless. Man I hated playing this role and I wouldn’t have had to if only I hadn’t morphed for another coffee. I mean come on! All for the drink that I didn’t even need, I just fancied one morning, and needed to morph to fly somewhere I could get one. What an idiot!

“I know what you are, I know your disgusting true form.” The professed cop was really ticking me off now, daggers of icy pain were stabbing into my fingers and nose from the cold, I wasn’t intending to stand much more of this. I swear if he called me a name again I’d really lose my temper. I looked up to the ceiling of the underground metal room. Hmm, this room would heat up nicely if I decided to morph, breath fire and roast this sucker. No, no, patience Zee. Don’t get caught by this guy.

“Dude seriously where do you get off with this disgusting crap? I’m a pretty girl, you’re the ugly bad cop man trying to hurt my innocent self.” I said it with as much sincerity as I could though the sarcasm slipped through slightly. I was angry, how could I help it? “All you cop men are so mean.” My brow twitched a little as a thought fell into my head. The plural I used, where were the other cops? He was the only one I’d seen since I woke up in this hell-hole. He’d knocked me out at the back of that stupid café. At least he must have, I just remember it happening from behind.  Suddenly my mind was full of doubt, possibilities and confusion. What was going on here?

I think he saw my bewilderment, damn it. Poker face! Poker face! Too late.

“What do you mean cop men?” Was he professing now that he was on his lonesome? Fool. But I didn’t take the bait. Just in case.

“Come on you ugly creature what did you mean men?”

That was it, the last straw. The clever thought that perhaps he was provoking me on purpose didn’t enter my head yet. I was furious. The flash of light made him stagger back. The leather restraints that held me snapped as my serrated scales caught them mid-morph. My head elongated and I snapped my teeth together, I wanted to scare him as much as possible. He shouldn’t have made me mad. My wings came out next and I used them to flip me over, off the table and able to face him.

I hissed and allowed little flames to escape my mouth. My wings were extended high above my head — I was making sure I looked as fearsome as possible.

Now, let’s just say, his reaction wasn’t what I wanted.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! Jade! Jade! Come here, she’s a beauty, you were right about this one. Lovely.”

My yellow eyes blinked confused but I kept my battle stance. When a door clicked open my head snapped sideways, a woman entered. She was pretty, long dark hair and glasses, like a receptionist, a good-looking young one. She clapped her hands and squealed in an annoyingly girly way. That wasn’t a pleasant sound for my sensitive ears, even if they were hidden behind horns on my head.

“Careful Jade, you know how sensitive your hearing is when you morph, hers is probably worse.” He must have seen my head pull away. Why was I so transparent? But the bigger question was; why wasn’t I killing them?

I drew breath, my glittering scaled chest expanded, my claws spreading, ready to eject the flames at my captors.

“SHIELD!” the weird cop yelled at Jade. She slammed her hand on a button and a slatted clear shield shot across the massive hall-like room. I was separated from them, but I was sure my flames could get through this thing. I shot them out, all fifty burning tons of them. They shot straight back at me. Boy was I happy that I’m impervious to heat!

Once the flames and smoke cleared Jade and the guy could see me pacing the ‘fence’. I looked like some angry wild cat, not allowed dinner. I roared with all my might in my frustration. It rattled the shield but didn’t move it. The deep throttly growl that erupted from my chest didn’t seem to scare them at all. I obviously wasn’t the first dragon they’d caught.

I finally tried a last ditch effort to run the shield down.


I slammed into it and was thrown back by the electric pulse it emitted. I was thrown, wings, beak, claws and all into the back wall, knocking tables and instruments in every direction.

I saw the man say something to the girl. Well that explained why they didn’t hold their ears when I roared, the screen was sound proof. The girl nodded and left, but annoyingly the bloke stayed. He pulled a lab chair out from a desk and sat down facing me. His tall frame was bent over his legs, his large hands clasped between his knees. Well he couldn’t outstare me. I began pacing again so frustrated. I watched him with every lap of the shielded I made. It was only three of my dragon strides to reach the other side of my pen.

Who was this guy? Where was I? What had I let myself in for? I was a little worried, but as long as I stayed morphed then at least I had a chance of fighting whoever they were if they tried anything.

I paused crouching low in front of the man; I turned my gold eyes on his face and stared into his own. Perhaps I could scare him, or at least figure him out a little more. Because of all that water before I morphed I hadn’t seen his face clearly. It was sharp, dark, and his eyes almost black, no, I think they were black. His hair was rough black curls cropped short, and he had a short shaped beard running from side burn to side burn and going into a thin clipped moustache on his top lip. He would have looked pretty hot, but the main feature that dominated his face wasn’t pretty.

He had a large moon shaped scar on the right side of his face. It started in the middle of his forehead and ran the length of his face, slightly changing the shape of his beard on that side. Maybe that’s why he grew one — to over it up. That one big scar line wasn’t all of it though, it split off into millions of little lines, like tree roots across his cheek and chin. Horrible. Painful.

He black eyes were unrelenting on mine. I blinked my large scaly lids, my gold eyes flicked back and forth over the rest of him. He was wearing a strange black suit, probably custom because I hadn’t seen anything like it before. It had a high collar and to my surprise the scar on his face went down onto his body underneath the collar. I wondered what had happened to him. The black covered him totally, even down to his western boots, this guy was weird. I mean, what was with the outfit? Then again I’d been wearing the same tank top and combats for the last four years, that was pretty gross.

Damn it! Clothes, I bet they hadn’t had a chance to morph with me this time; I had done it so quickly in anger. So ignore that last part, I would no longer be wearing the same tank top, combats and boots. That was part of the reason my scales were blue on the top half and green on the bottom with sandy claws, all the colour of my clothes. I looked at my reflection quickly in the shield, yep sure enough I was one icy blue dragon – how irritating. The glitter however just came with the morph, so annoyingly girly.

I wish this guy would stop staring. I started pacing again.

Published by Philippa Jane Keyworth

Philippa Jane Keyworth, known to her friends as Pip, has been writing since she was twelve in every notebook she could find. Originally trained as a horse-riding instructor, Philippa went on to become a copywriter before beginning a degree in History. A born again Christian, Philippa lives in the south of England with her handsome husband. Philippa has always written stories and believes that, since it is one of her loves and passions, she always will. In her early writing career, she dabbled in a variety of genres, but it was the encouragement of a friend to watch a film adaptation of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice that began her love affair with the British Regency. Since then, she has watched every Regency film and TV series she could get her hands on and become well acquainted with Georgette Heyer's novels which gave her the inspiration to write her own. Both as a reader and a writer, Philippa believes it is important to escape into a world you yourself would want to live in. This is why she writes stories that will draw you into the characters' joys and heartaches in a world apart from our own. Her debut novel, The Widow's Redeemer (Madison Street Publishing, 2012), is a traditional Regency romance bringing to life the romance between a young widow with an indomitable spirit and a wealthy viscount with an unsavory reputation. The novel has been received well by readers and reviewers who have praised the heartfelt story and admirable characters. Her second novel, The Unexpected Earl (Madison Street Publishing, 2014), explores another romance in the Regency era when an impetuous young woman has her life turned upside down by the reappearance of the earl who jilted her six years ago. So, what are you waiting for? Get swept away into another time with characters you will learn to love, and experience the British Regency like never before.

8 thoughts on “I don’t care what you think….much

  1. Ooooooo…. Yay! What I’m truly enjoying is that I’m not able to predict where you go next. It catches me off guard and is better than what I had begun to construct in my head. I guess when I read a book there is no time for that. I tend to galump (yes, possibly a new word) from chapter to chapter in my lumbering and greedy haste to discover “what next”.

  2. Also the only time that you can prove you are truly unselfconscious and oblivious to the opinions of others is in the moment just before you realise what you look like. So for instance, the moment when you laugh to yourself before realising how that would appear to a similarly employed onlooker. Just a thought.

    In that moment you have the opportunity to choose… Do I change or do i continue. Often your decision is influenced by how much you value the opinions of those around you. Will you ever see them again? Do they have influence in any part of your life and happiness..The question is then are you truly free in your oddities after consciously choosing to continue in them? In my experience it is possible, once you push through the initial barrier of awareness.

    Losing yourself in a moment is achievable… Being always independent of other’s opinions is less so. To be lost in a moment often requires something greater than yourself (self awareness) to grab your attention. It could be instinctively laughing (often inelegantly) at something unexpectedly humourous; loosing yourself in beautiful or energetic music; dancing with all your might; worshiping; watching nature (e.g. sunset); entering into s child’s world; being absorbed by a book… The list goes on.

    In those transient moments we simply exist and respond. I wonder if that’s why they step often used as plot devices… Moment where one character gets to observe the unedited actions of another character… Sees below the surface veneer of polite nicities and catches s brief glance of hidden depths, mysteries to be solved or underlying character. These moments being transient become all the more addictive. To witness one is a privilege open only to a few and especially as characters fall in love, they crave more moments where they get to peek inside the other person.

    Sorry… Just a few rambling thoughts. As you can tell I found your post thought provoking.

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