Tag Archives: death

August 15th Poem to a lost one

Happy birthday to you

Today I feel blue

With memories, happy memories

Of a time I was with you

But now you are gone

I’m alone with my song

Happy birthday, happy birthday

I wish I was with you

So long

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems A - C

Writer losing her mojo

We all have heard the saying that “writers write as simple as that” and it is really is as simple as that, but most don’t actually do it as regularly as they should or at least believe they should.  For me, I do not write as much as I believe I should because in the last few years I have lost my mojo, I forgot what it meant for me to write and I have done a lot of soul searching in the past year to find out where the passion has gone.

I did something rare for me – I re-read a book, usually I don’t re-read books unless I put them into a reference category but this particular book I re-read and saw it with fresh eyes and read things I didn’t remember were in the book in the first place.  The name of the book was “Big Magic” written by Elizabeth Gilbert.  When I read this book I asked myself a question; “Why do I think I have lost my love for writing”?  It was a simple answer really upon reflection and I would never have gotten this answer if it wasn’t for this book.  My writing became too focused on financial panic, the urge to write as much as I can so I can earn a living because I needed to break out of debts, but instead, this kind of pressure halted everything about my creative mind and I found I couldn’t do anything other than dramatic self-pitying poetry on mass, the stories and the playtime died, literally.

For the word, nothing has been published except for the things that are published on this blog simply because I didn’t want to approach a publisher with such depressing poetical themes, because I still hold to the idea that I am primarily a fantasy and horror story writer, not a poet!  I am also an essayist I suppose, because I like writing and hoarding information I have learned about my favourite subjects, but I am not sure how to become a paid essay writer and I am not really going to approach that as a career until I learn more about it. 

Anyway – getting back to the main subject of this post.  I forgot how to play – yes, even in real life, I have forgotten how to play and to laugh because of my severe depression, breakdown and financial worries.  I became so down in the dumps about my life that I had two years of being carefully guarded by Paul my fiancé because I couldn’t be left alone for fear I’d commit suicide, seriously.  One point it got so bad, Paul had to go out somewhere without me and he needed to ask a neighbour to sit in with me.  To say I am over that now, would be wrong, the slightest thing brings it back, but I am not as bad as I used to be, the self-harming has stopped a little bit and I am more predictable these days; but ultimately, the depression is still there and I am trying hard to find out how to play again, how to feel happy again and how to enjoy life.  I don’t enjoy anything anymore and it is getting increasingly difficult since the doctor is now looking into what they believe to be a very serious neurological problem, either MS or motor neurone disease, but like always there is a long waiting list here in the UK and I won’t really know what’s going on with me for several months apparently.

So, how does one go about trying to find out how to be happy again and learn to play again?  It turns out according to the book “Big Magic” and a couple of other books I have read recently that it is something most adults get out of practise of, that once you start trying to become playful and do things which are generally playful (even if you don’t feel happy doing it or feel that it is playful) you will eventually trick your mind to becoming playful and you will build up a type of momentum.  Once the momentum is built up, you will start to feel a change – well I hope so.

I thought hard about how I write stories now in comparison to how I wrote them ten years ago, was there any notable differences in how I produced work back then than now?

Yes there was a huge fundamental difference in fact. 

A decade ago I wasn’t afraid to be thought of as eccentric or insane, I would play with my imagination and I would share my thoughts and ideas no matter how obscure and strange they were with people around me and then I would write about those ideas.  I used to have a lot more creative friends too, but many of them have creative careers which have made them too busy to socialise even online, some have died, some have decided that they too have lost their playful side and have become super conservative people.

I have also found that my social circle is smaller these days which is amazing because I used to think my social circle couldn’t get any smaller ten years ago, the people who I do talk to these days are very serious people who have a worried look on their faces whenever anybody talks about anything out of the ordinary, even if you were to explain that you are an artist and a writer so it’s not a mental health problem, it’s just my mind playing with ideas and therefore there is a story in this.  You’d be surprise how people like that can dry up your will to be imaginative or to share your ideas.

Some people who have very little imagination tell me that they wished they had more of an imagination and they start to tinker with my story ideas themselves (which I don’t mind) but then they start demanding that they must change my concept on my fantasy worlds because things are just not plausible and that readers are real people who live in the real world and they want something believable, so they start pulling at the threads of my fantasy infrastructure and start literally pulling my fantasy communities apart by the seams.  It turns out that even my perfect all powerful fantasy God is not infallible, that he has other beings that will cause problems he can’t deal with and that even this God ponders who created him and so forth.  I told the person, you are going too deep here buddy, I don’t want to go that way in my story, but they insist that I must.

I became a fantasy writer because I find the real world too boring and predictable for me to want to think about and write, the idea of making a fantasy based novel plausible, to me, is laughable, because fantasy is supposed to be anything BUT normal. 

To cut myself off from such people will almost completely isolate me again, which I don’t want.  But can I really sit through another conversation where my worlds are being shattered write before my eyes?  I often feel like screaming at the top of my voice “Of course this fantasy God has a creator you dumbass, it is me, I am their goddess, I made them, but I am not egotistical enough to put myself in the book as the all-power”, does any other writer go through this?  Or is this situation totally unique to me?

So I am currently on a journey to find “My tribe” as Elizabeth Gilbert puts it and to find my playful imaginative self again and to have the confidence and focus of not listening to those who are dismantling my worlds and to continue with what I had always planned instead.  Which is a shame because these people used to feed me ideas, used to support me, but these days it is just soul destroying.  I have to ignore the world destroyers.

I wanted to join a writers group, but not sure what is involved with those and I am scared to find more people who are like that, once they’ve heard my stories.  I am trying to forget the people who are making me focus on writing purely for financial reasons and try to focus once again on writing for me, for fun, for release and for pleasure; the way it should be for all writers.

Leave a comment

Filed under About my work

The fates rhyme

As the midnight hour approaches

All the evil things encroaches

On all the living and the dozy

As they sleep in bed all nice and cosy

Weaving magic above their heads

Some will wake in the morning

Some will not

Some will awaken before then, in shock!

As nightmares are woven above their heads

Spinning yarns of fate on fine threads

No one knows what waits for them

In the morning, an evil fate or a shining gem

It is always a new dawning

And the fates never give a warning

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems S - U

Inktober 2018 – Day 19

Inktober Day 19 – back again?

 

I loved playing angry birds when it first came out, but I couldn’t help thinking that these kamikaze birds were getting a little annoying for the grim reaper to constantly reap and reincarnate, so today’s Inktober is based on this idea.  Enjoy!

 

Leave a comment

Filed under My art

Irreparable

When the world falls apart into the wilderness I shall depart
My heart broken into shards
Irreparable
When my dreams are smashed and my hopes are dashed
I shall become numb
Irreparable
When lives that I love are stolen and lost
If I survive that holocaust
My life will be irreparable
When I wander in a daze, through fields that were once maize
I shall look into my past and see that it is irreparable
Irreplaceable
Shadowed by the dust of fallen men, women and children
Because of lascivious greed and fame
Powerful men, insane
Irreparable damage they skein
Can we build civilisation again?
Or is it all…
Irreparable?

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems G - I

Bog Monster

Creeping out the boggy marshes
Gurgling its cries of death
See its eyes a glowing
See its fangs and feel its breath
Its hair is made of algae
It’s skin as slimy as a frog
See it creeping towards you
The monster of the bog
Though you are paralysed in fear
Though your heart tells you to flee
Though your chest is thumping hard
You can only stand and see
Death creeping closer to you and me
A little sigh of triumph comes from its muddy lips
It touches your legs so softly with its iron fingertips
Its grip gets tighter and tighter
Your voice makes desperate calls
But it’s too late it has you
And into the bog you’re pulled
Though the monster has spared your friend
The spell is broken down
Your friend runs towards the bog to save you
But they’re too late, you’ve drowned
Their cries are heard throughout the night
The monster has taken your life
Your friend sits at the bank of the bog mourning
Stabs at the bog with his knife
But they don’t find the monster in there
It has gone to the deeper depths of Hell
It has gone down there as soon as it had got you
And taken you as well
Your friend he threw himself into madness
No one believed his story
No one ever will, you know
The ending was far too gory
Instead they locked him up and away
Never to see the light of day
And always it is this way
With the monster of the bog
And now this story is said and done
And now you will carry on with your life
As though this story was never true
And of course, you don’t believe in after life
But his ghost is watching from that bog
To ward off others just like you
Keep away from this monster’s bog
Because the stories of course are true

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems A - C

HAPPY NEW YEAR & WELCOME 2017

 

The winter is born

It brings death to the year

Some people cry

Others they cheer

But they all call out

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems G - I

The Lovely Bones Review WITH SPOILERS

Spoiler Alert…

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold churns most reader’s stomachs whenever they pick up and read the first page, let alone chapter; it is purely because of the subject matter, a young girl barely in her teens is raped and murdered by her neighbour.  Although I did find the subject matter very difficult, I saw over all of that and continued to give the book a chance.  It is something outside of the genre I would usually read, but as I read on, I realised that actually, this book deserves to be noted as a fantasy novel rather than a crime one which most people assume it to be.

When you overcome the violence and the graphicness of this novel you will come to realise that it is a beautiful story about a young dead girl coming to terms with her own death and trying to let her living family go.  Until she lets them go in her heart, they cannot stop grieving, she is the key to how much they grieve or not – the more she clings onto the living the less likely they are to heal quickly from their loss of her.

This is a lesson that Susie Salmon is learning throughout the entire novel, as well as realising that her little experience of heaven is only the beginning of what is beyond that mysterious door she keeps seeing.  It is a story about Susie’s observations of the living, including the life of her murderer Mr. Harvey and her adventures in the limbo heaven with other murdered victims.  How they are trying to use their imagination to create a world in which they want to be in, whilst dead.

The mysterious door can only be opened to Susie once she decides to move on and try not to think and worry too much about the living, when the door is opened, she can in effect find peace.  Perhaps she gets reincarnated?  Perhaps she goes to true heaven?  Nobody knows, but it would be lovely to think of it in such terms.  That is why I find the book is beautiful.  Forget the violence; forget the sordidness, just read the book to the end.  It is a treasure; it is in my top ten favourites of all time.  It is very touching and there is justice in this book, though it is very obscure and indirect.

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under reviews

NaNoWriMo Day 5

NaNoWriMo word count so far… 12667 and writing first draft without revising each paragraph like I usually do, is coming up with some surprising results.  The results are similar to brainstorming and brain drain, similar to the things I tend to get on my morning pages with the Artist Way. 

So far my novel contains talking animals and several magical items I had never planned on.  The journey is cut short by a weird mode of transport and I have added a supporting character I had never planned to add, the supporting characters I had planned to add aren’t as important to the story after all; I am sensing a death coming up any time soon for those!

Yes I know death to one of the least supporting characters is callous, but it is necessary, as Stephen King always says “Kill your darlings” and I have to say, I am not uncomfortable with it.

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under About my work

Tina is dead, long live me

I have chosen to die

I have chosen to grow

I have chosen to be someone you don’t know

Someone that was hidden

Far from view

Someone who knows you, but you don’t know who

I am now new

Though I am almost old

I was someone who did as they were told

Now I am fresh and I am now wise

I have changed totally in everyone’s eyes

But I am not changed because of who I am with

I am changed because I feel less stiff

I feel more free

 To be more me

Not someone that you wanted me to be

I am not Tina, I am not there

I am someone else, someone you can’t scare

Tina is dead

Long live me

Tina is gone

Now I live free

 

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Poems S - U