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Ericka Waller

@erickawaller1

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Mother. Writer. Reader. Dogs. Over thinker. Milk in first. Author DOG DAYS, GOODBYE BIRDIE GREENWING @penguinukbooks
Rep’d by THE @emilyglenister

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Min is here to save our dirty houses and our sticky little souls

Been waiting to share this for a long time. Massive love to @mybookscape and @the.chi.chi.girls for their help.

#bemoremin #goodbyebirdiegreenwing by @erickawaller1

Sunday by @erickawaller1

@bookandpuddinghaywardsheath sent me @cutterandsquidge though the post and it is the kind of cake you eat in big pants and a baggy t-shirt with a serving spoon, cold feet on the kitchen floor - warm fudge in your heart for friends and chocolate by @erickawaller1

Book post is the best post @bertsbooks by @erickawaller1

So lucky to get a copy of this incredible book.

Mitch, a passionate bookseller, is arrested one morning for committing an unthinkable crime: selling books that have been banned. After five years in prison, all Mitch wants to do is to regain his freedom and settle back into his bookshop.

But fate has other plans.

On the same day Mitch crosses paths with the man who put him behind bars, he also encounters Anna, a woman who could well be the love of his life. From that moment on, Mitch finds himself caught between an irresistible desire for revenge and an irresistible desire for love . . . by @erickawaller1

Sore arm. New book. How could I resist ?

During a time of great turmoil, Gustave Flaubert created literature’s most scandalous heroine: Madame Bovary. He then poisoned her with arsenic. But what if, 175 years later, Emma – and the women history overlooked – could seize the quill from his hands and tell a different story?

In One Brief Moment All Eternity is a luminous reinvention of an iconic male writer, told through the eyes of the women – real and fictional – who shaped him: a devoted nursemaid, an Egyptian dancer and a passionate, jealous lover who refuses to be forgotten. Through their voices, visionary author Elif Shafak creates both an intimate portrait of a great artist and an epic meditation on storytelling itself: who gets remembered, who gets erased, and how can literature endure through political upheaval, war and injustice? When the world feels broken, how do we find the hope to carry on? by @erickawaller1

by @erickawaller1

Home ❤️ by @erickawaller1

A lovely doctor has agreed to move me onto tablets from IV so I can continue my healing journey at home.

When I’m finally discharged I’m going to make a pot of earl grey tea and toast crumpets with a sprinkle of salt and make @jimmywaller73 watch films with me as he won’t be able to reach the remote.

It is a costume drama day, darling.

I’m going to stand in my garden and breathe in the mud and grass and softening leaves like Heathcliff on the moors but less broody and with none of the sex stuff from the latest film.

I am going to sniff my daughter’s hair, be in their orbit of sparkle and wit. Inhale them like a Sanderson sister.

I am going to turn my bedside light off when I want. Off and on again like morse code to myself.

Home. Home. Home.

I am going to stop taking morphine which makes me say ridiculous things like ‘Would you like a sausage’ to the nurse taking my obs at 4am (in my head it was Tino patting me).

No, reader - she did not want a sausage.

I am going to listen to Bruce Springsteen so loudly. I’m On Fire with joy.

Thank you so much for all the love and support. I wish I could gather your well wishes and sprinkle them like glitter over the pale lady in the corner who has had no visitors all week. My heart feels like a football for her. by @erickawaller1

I write to distract myself.
I have a fear of sickness and I’m on a ward with a person who cannot stop and I’m hooked up to an IV so I cannot run and hide.
I’m scared. I live life to avoid this. Don’t drink alcohol, take drugs, touch door handles, eat seafood or any other food my brain deems ‘suspicious’
(Don’t get me started on mushrooms or that weird pink fancy ham that my husband wets himself over.)
I have written off entire countries based on potential food poisoning.
I am scared of rice.
I am scared and I want to go home.
I want to wrench out my cannula, fly down the eleven flights of stairs to the sea ( the lonely sea and the sky,) sprint on feet that are not bone on bone along the under-cliffs path and all the way home where my dog who is not Buddy but is still so good waits with silky ears that smell of biscuits and a pink tummy.
Home
Your face right in front of mine @jimmywaller73 - that dear continent I know so well. I want to walk across your cheeks with my eyes. Fall into your dimple, traverse the bluff of your top lip.
I want to get in the shower and scrub this infection from my skin
Wash my hair until it floats in a halo of clean frizz around me like Diana Ross.
I want to start a chain reaction of wellness.
Shave off the days l have lain here watching people get and not get visitors.
The lady chasing a tic tac across her bedside table silently crying.
The lady who cannot move her arms or legs with the nervous son who tries to persuade jelly to stay on the plate, the spoon, into the black planet of his mother’s waiting mouth.
The lady who will not move. The one who shouts NO in her sleep.
Sometimes it hurts just to be in the world.
But there has been joy too!
The handsome drug addict who winks at me he goes out to get drunk all day, comes back with his friend and a guitar. Nurses dancing at 3am, tired and more beautiful for it.
The 99 year old lady who demanded her stick and called her husband to remind him to eat his cornflakes (even though her blood pressure, even though her heart, even though, even though)
The trolley wheels that squeak under the weight of white crockery and teapots and on morphine it could almost be Mrs Potts and Chip. by @erickawaller1

A book that…
What books will always stay with you? 📚❤️💬👇🏻
#bookstagram #booksbooksbooks #bookrecommendations #bookishlove by @erickawaller1

I miss dog tails wagging. Earl grey tea. The radio. Not listening to people’s bodily functions working or not working. My bed. The spines of my books smiling at me from shelves. Crumpets. I miss my heart not breaking at translucent old ladies trying to reach alarm bells, find glasses, not make a fuss.
I miss walking on the beacon with the tangerine leaves in the breeze and the blackbirds and the custard coloured sun falling in a zebra print all around me.
I miss standing under a hot shower. The sound of my husband clearing his throat. Being in the same house as my babies. Going for hot chocolate and ice cream. Singing loudly and very badly. by @erickawaller1