Today, write your own list on one of these topics:
- Things I Like
- Things I’ve Learned
- Things I Wish
There are no rules, though it might help to decide in advance how many items you’d like to include, or set a timer, so you have boundaries within which to work. For example, a list of 10 or 25 or 50 (or more!) items, or intervals of 15, 30, or 60 minutes are appropriate.
Could not go too long without referencing a movie (which is something i do quite often). So with all love and respect to the movie “10 things I hate about you”
10 Things About Me
I like my natural poker face
And really deep brown eyes
I like being tall, well built and muscly
But wish I could find clothes I like in my size
I like the way I can look at the world
And see the shadows of hidden truths
“If you hear hoof-beats think of a Zebra”
But those aren’t the only animals with hooves
I like my taste in all kinds of movies
I like the way I like squeals
I like the view from the moral high ground
Ironically because I consider all people equal
I like the way I want to be more
An Author, Scholar, Lover of Truth, Know it All
But mostly I like the way that people can’t tell
Most days I don’t like myself at all.
Sunday afternoon -The dark tea time of the soul (h/t Douglas Adams) Let the random ruminations begin!
Hugo stared at the wall daring it to be anything but what it was. Unyielding, unchanging, uninteresting. It did not alter or shift. Neither did the Djinn rune written in an ink no pure human could read.
There was no option but to do this the Djinn way. He felt his body undulate and lose weight. It felt like falling asleep but not nearly as comforting. Anyone lucky or unlucky enough to have been watching him at that moment would have seen him appear to fade into near nothingness, a ghost image. That ghost then appeared to walk through the wall.
The manner of why this can be is quite tedious to explain.
Dream interpretation anybody?
I was driving with friends, (none of whom I recognise), from Dover – for some reason we had crossed the channel but I couldn’t remember how. There was a hump in the road and then a bright headlight and I stopped the car because I was blinded and when I could see again I was parked halfway up the stairs on the pedestrian footbridge at Harlow station – and all but one of my friends are gone. We get out of the car and apologise to the security guards who look bored and then roll the car down the bridge and out of the ticket hall. I’m really freaked out. The friend sits down and he’s now wearing motorbike gear. I asked where the others are and why he’s got a motorbike and he says we discussed this already…
He says calm down have something to eat and hands me a huge mango. I peel it but its empty. I look at him and he’s also got a mango which he’s opened and which is also empty, however he’s bitten into seemingly empty space and there’s now juice running down his chin and then I really start freaking out.
And then I woke up. Anyone hazard a guess?
I’m blessed. I know because my mates tells me so whenever I talk about what I’m feeling and what I’m dealing with at the moment.
They ask me what’s wrong. I tell them how I feel and they insist on trying to make me feel better by reminding me how many people are suffering or worse off. I don’t know about them but knowing other people are suffering doesn’t make me feel better.
I get it though they’re just going at it the wrong way. Count your blessings.
Thing is when you’re depressed your blessings aren’t there anymore. You have a flat? Could lose the flat, could end up homeless, could have vermin. You have a job? Could get passed over for a promotion, could have another re-organisation, might not even like this f@#*ing job anyway. Depression is a death spiral you can’t pull out of your own. That’s the difference. It’s like someome’s thrown a spanner in your difference engine.
As mentioned before I’m a wannabe sufi. A sufi en pretence. I’m fasting at the moment for the month of Ramadhan and will do so for the next twenty days or so. 19 hours a day without food or drink. The mood swings I’m going through are Shakespearean. I’m rather dramatic company at the moment and if you were an audience and my life was a film you’d be applauding my dramatic shifts back and forwards.
With a spanner in my engine and dearth of coffee and fuel in my system I’m in trouble.
The gaps in the noise of the world are the windows of opportunity that allow me to hear my thoughts. Meditation helps some of the time. Often though there’s not the opportunity because of the pace of daily life.
Actually that’s a lie. It’s all about power. Having the power to slow down or speed up at your own volition is outside of my power while I’m working a 40 hour working week.
I envy the ability, the privilege to move at ones own pace.
More and more realise that the source of my depression is from the realisation of how unfulfilled my life has been. In fact that was the root behind the age reboot last year, 40 is the new 30 (The last 10 years have been awful I’m declaring a do-over)
Being Black British rather than African American I’ve been playing catch up with some of the vocabulary and cultural memes.
Nothing describes my current state of despair as well as the phrase “A dream deferred is a dream denied”
In other news the novel is taking shape, in a practical “I’m actually doing something sense” rather than the procrastinating “I’ve thought about it” sense. I can honestly say I only feel happiness these days when I am writing or reading. Everything else in my world is a numb blur rushing past my minds eye. Like a brain damaged patient doing physical therapy as I organise whats in front of me whats behind my eyes begins to organise itself into a steadily more coherent mass rather than the mess I usually wake up as.
Every now again when I’m unsteadily steering my way through my own personal storm I’ll think out loud.
More often than not I’ll say “I don’t even know who I am”
Meanwhile back at the Batcave…
Since I’ve last written I’ve been mostly trying to get my head straight.
It’s been a tough couple of weeks and I’ve now reached out for help on that score. Watch this space for more on that. Save to say I have now accepted the fact that I am big “D” Depressed not llittle “d” depressed and I can’t figure it out on my own.
On the writing front I’ve now decided to use Roz Morris’s novel writing process to help me get me pass my writing block. I went through a dozen or so possibilities but Roz impressed me the most with her readability and structured approach.
Nail Your Novel – Why Writers Abandon Books and How You Can Draft, Fix and Finish With Confidence
Using her approach I am now scoping out my ideas and working on my synopsis in a orderly fashion rather than bouncing in and out – though rather than keep all my ideas in a hat I’m using Evernote – same principle
I’ve spent way too much time procrastinating on twitter and Facebook but I like to think its better than not writing at all.
“In the great tradition of these speeches, generally someone says something along the lines of ‘Chase your dreams,’ but I don’t want to tell you that because I don’t believe that. I want you to chase your reality.” Christopher Nolan
Shout out and respect to Karen for nominating me! Her blog is excellent and I can’t wait to read her novels when they’re ready, I recommend you check out her blog now!
- Pass the tour on to four(ish) other bloggers.
- Give your nominees the rules and a specific Monday to post.
- Answer four questions about your creative process which lets other bloggers and visitors know what inspires you to do what you do.
- How does my work differ from others in my genre?
- How does my writing/creative process work?
- Why do I write or create what I do?
- What I’m working on at the moment?
- Compose a one-time post on a specific Monday (date given from your nominator).
1. How does my work differ from others in my genre?
We all have a unique, inspiring, terrifying, awe-inspiring, voice inside of us. We just need to lose out fear of using it. For me the time to open my mouth and scream came when the pain of writing was out-weighed by the pain of staying silent. This is my long drawn out silent scream. My cramped inner child stretches and flexes and runs out to play. It’s better to live out loud and crash rather than exist safe, quiet but ultimately unsatisfied.
2. How does my writing/creative process work?
I scroll through Spotify until I find a tune that matches my mood or the mood I’m trying to invoke and I leave it #OnRepeat and then I start writing. I’m researching methods on structuring novels so I can get this damn book out of my head. Once I have found the way of working that works for me I hope that writing stops being my means of escape and becomes my means of living.
3. Why do I write or create what I do?
“What happens to a dream deferred?” I can’t live the life I’ve been living anymore. I can’t stay quiet anymore. I can’t knuckle under anymore. I can’t pretend to be happy doing the 9-5 anymore. I’ve always daydreamed, always imagined scenarios, always imagined but only sometimes have I written. I had a chance to be writer when I was doing my film degree but I let that opportunity pass me by without realising what I’d loss. Write or Die.
4. What I’m working on at the moment?
I am working on a novel
The Monday I choose for the nominees is June 8th Post anything you want on this particular day! Just pingback your own Blog Tour Award post on that day! 🙂
And the wrong / right lyrics for 2015 would be:
The meme machine
the price of fame
the fools are wise and the mad are sane
It’s just the hollywood system by another name
Look at my smile, suit and shoes
Im here to distract you from the falsity of the mainstream news
Familiarity breeds contempt. Something to think on the next time you recognise your own reflection
No-one who is used to having friends they understand and can understand them knows what it’s like to not be able to speak your mind with the people around you.
Nor can they understand the sense of relief when you lose your last solitary f*ck and you start speaking from the heart. It’s as if you’ve suddenly transmogrified into a evil universe version of yourself.
Like your non-identical twin has suddenly switched places with you. The same but not the same. The stranger in your skin. I’ve had that experience and I was as shocked and entertained at the words that came unbidden from mouth as everyone else in the room as I stopped speaking from the social script and said what I meant and what I felt. Truly felt.
We all wears masks. We’re not superheroes or supervillains but we all have a secret identity. The real us. There are very few of us who WYSIWYG. What you see is what you get.
We all lie. We all lie all the time.
Civilisation is held together by little white lies, half truths and fudged facts.
Have you seen the news? That was a trick question – you haven’t. Chances are unless you are a journalist none of us have really seen the news. What we get is the processed meat product of TV not the raw dripping fresh meat fresh from the scene. We are as packaged and prepared and edited as the evening news. Within and without.
TANGENT: I loved Sir Terry Pratchett and I miss him as if I knew him personally. One of the scenes that sticks in my mind comes from the Witches novel Witches Abroad
Granny Weatherwax looked out at the multi-layered silvery world
‘Where am I?’
INSIDE THE MIRROR
‘Am I dead?’
THE ANSWER TO THAT, said Death, IS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN NO AND YES
Esme turned and a billion figures turned with her
‘Where can I get out?’
WHEN YOU FIND THE ONE THAT’S REAL
‘Is this a trick question?’
Granny looked down at herself
‘This one’ she said