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.
Nice piece by Dr Nerdlove. Applicable lessons in positive mental attitude that work in all areas of life – not just dating!
Your Attitude Controls Your Dating Success – Paging Dr. NerdLove.
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.
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.
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
Stable and comfortable, Staid and Constricting. Leafy and well situated. Ludicrous and wealthy. I moved from Leytonstone in (then, unregenerated) grim East London when I was 7. Which isn’t strictly true of course because I didn’t move my mum moved. At the time I was growing up there Woodford Green was a mostly peaceful small well to do suburb just outside of London.
I’m going about this all wrong.
Woodford Green was and still is safe. Continue reading
Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands.They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.
Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view
The familiar white roaring light filled Sam’s world from scream to shining scream. It was different this time though. Often when he jumped he felt dizzy for a some time afterwards but this time the dizziness left him altogether immediately.
His gaze and consciousness cleared and returned and his heart filled with equal parts of wonder, dread and foreboding. He was home. Not his functional palace in California, 2035. Home in London in 1995.
For the sake of preserving her blushes I will call my muse, “Muse” for that is her status
How is it possible to be so sharp-eyed and yet have such a soft gaze.
I heard a comedian say once that what a woman wants to hear from her husband is her own thoughts in a mans voice.
When Muse speaks, its like my soul is talking to me in a woman’s voice. Muse tells me things about myself and I’ll listen and I’ll reflect and what she says just seems to be so obviously true I’ll wonder how I could ever have thought otherwise. Continue reading
Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path.You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.
Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.
None of us will ever know the whole story in other words. We can only collect a bag full of shards that each seem perfect.
— From 100 Word Story‘s About page
Brevity is the goal of this task, although “brief” can mean five words or five-hundred words. You might write a fifty-word story, as writer Vincent Mars publishes on his blog, Boy in the Hat. Or you might tell your tale in precisely one-hundred words, like the folks at 100 Word Story — an approach that forces you to question every word. Continue reading