Daily drivel #8….

A rainy day started with a smile. The cascading droplets, playing a delightful tune on my window. Bursts of energy in the skies, wind thrashing at the pane, droplets turning to individual streams. Rivers of water from clouds of grey, sad in it’s colour, yet a happy patter of sound.

The sound of crunchy, fallen amber leaf turned to silken mulch. Bouncy steps, soggy shoes and refreshing showers. A sensory marvel, a swift change from previous days. Do I prefer this to sweltering heat? I think I do… With my newfound love of taking in my surroundings and simple focus on otherwise unnoticeable, uncontrollable feats. I can see the beauty in the ugly, I see the significance of the insignificant.

I’m starting to really understand how to effectively keep my mind at peace. The simple things keep an otherwise rampant and over processing mind free and at ease. Whether this can help during times of despair, I do not know. A simple raindrop. A footstep on drenched leaves. The smell of a rain soaked patio. It is simplistic bliss.

Watching the sun draw and dry the ground as quickly as it was soaked. Birds tweeting, as if relieved to see the sun again, fleeting movement from bird table to tree. In unison before the rain hits again. Blues, greens and yellows, a smudge in the air as they swoop and feast. Autumn may bring warming shades but our feathered friends never fail to add a dash of bright colour.

I feel I’ve rambled as I sit, wander and wonder. The ramblings of a man in awe of his surroundings and at peace within his noggin. It’s truly amazing…

Amber temptress….

With gardening the cuttings, branches and debris are inevitable….now to the easiest method of disposal….

The fire is catching. A wild and free being, popping and flickering. Roaring and bellowing it’s calming symphony. Behind it’s beauty lies devastation, blackened destruction, a sweet smell of it’s job coming to fruition.

As embers, glowing branches disappear and ashes fall like snow, it’s happy and at peace. Oh what a simple yet terrifying beauty. Scarred surroundings, scorched leaves and grass left in it’s wake. Nothing but satisfaction, do the long gone flames feel. Their job is done, the odd spark holding back to finish what the amber temptress started.

As I sit here staring, hours have gone by. What felt like a lifetime flashed by in a minute. I’d much rather the branches flourish and grow to an untamed wilderness. Though I can’t help admire a flame, that free and unstoppable force. Success in it’s destruction….

My novel….just a snippet….

I put this out there, with trepidation and an overwhelming feeling of ‘oh shit…what have I done?!’. It’s a snippet from months of writing. When I started this, it was the start of something special, a personal and enlightening experience…where my writing journey began…

…… As I walk through the debris of the street, leaves and litter, life rushes by around me. Bottles, plastic and paper bags, wrappers strewn across the pavement, parting like waves in my path. My destination is unknown to me at the moment, focused on each footstep. To look up would somehow spoil the mystery, the almost secrecy of where I’ll end up. It brings some amusement in an otherwise mundane life, a new street, same litter, unknown destination. The thought of what people must think when looking at this strange man, grinning whilst staring directly in front and down at the ground. Well…I couldn’t care less. Whatever creates an ounce of joy, I’ll hold on to it, no matter how odd.

The intrigue and enigma of this game I play is short lived as I reach a dead end, quite fitting is a dark, cluttered end. It mirrors my fall from grace, instant and in my face. As if to laugh in my face, never a happy ending. Turns out I recognise this area, as I reluctantly look up, I’m directly adjacent to my usual walk home. On joining the main street again, as ever I’m hiding in a trance, avoiding possible interaction, hands in pockets fiddling with keys and coins. Trying to hold on to the excitement of the accepted application to this experiment. Destination is home, or whatever you want to call it.

We’re about 24 hours from the start of S.D.A-1.0, I find myself tidying the shithole I call home. Ignoring the plaster falling from the walls as I place books back on their shelf. Dusting the coffee table even though it has a gaping crack down the middle and evidence of a serious lack of coasters. It came with this dive, along with the sofa, no doubt flea ridden, a murky brown colour, pretty sure it was a cream colour when it began it’s life. Obligatory broken springs trying to force their way through the misshapen and worn seat cushions. I straighten the single ornament I have, a little bird, a robin on a singular branch, delicate petals at the end. A reminder of a great man, my grandfather. Possibly the only thing I hold dear in this life. As I skew my head, pondering whether it looks better on the twisted mantle or perhaps in the middle of the coffee stained table, all seems quiet. Obviously the inevitable silence in the room as I stare at my robin. A quiet mind and a sobering thought of aloneness, yet not lonely. As if every fleeting thought, every unanswered question meant absolutely nothing. A feeling of being free, a quick glance around the dump to quickly realise all I’ll be taking with me is this, an ornament of a bird, a meaning, a sentiment. Knowing whenever this is over, the cracked coffee table, stained sofa, plaster laden floors with flaking craters in the walls will undoubtedly belong to somebody else. Somebody else will stand where I am, whether having the same sobering thoughts or surveying their new home with pride, they will without a doubt be skipping over the shit I now see, just as I did. Independence is one thing, surviving is another. If this is where an independent life begins, I have little hope for humanity, little expectation for a better world, and a sad feeling that others will feel like I do at this moment or worse, alone plus loneliness.

The light outside has faded as I continue to stand in front of the mantle. My gaze ever so slightly blurred, strained focus on the robin, brain feeling tired. I notice my stance has widened as I gently sway, involuntarily, almost a rockabye. As tired and exhausted as my body and mind feel, a saddening prospect of breaking this gaze is overwhelming, bringing a tear to my eye. Knowing that if I do manage to sleep at all, I will have broken this peaceful moment to inevitably fail at getting the rest I cry out for. A broken half an hour, nightmare ridden and exhausting in itself. It is almost pleasing to realise that this decision, attempt to sleep or not, will be taken out of my hands. A prisoner of an experiment, but a free man from the jail of my mind……..

This was hard for me to put out there. But starting and continuing this novel, starting this blog and reading others has been a life changing experience!

How did your writing journey begin?

How has writing helped you?

Daily drivel #5….a return from the abyss….

I haven’t written for a while. It’s been a strange few days as far as inspiration is concerned, a blank and empty abyss!

When I thought words could be written, they would disappear. An empty notebook, a vision in my head, even the lines were a blur. A dramatic and uncomfortable thought that this could be it, no more words left to write, no more feelings in which to share. A frightening prospect, writing has been something of a saviour, a release from torment and fear.

To finally have something to write about…the thought of not being able to…felt like Christmas morning when I was a child. As letters, words, sentences started to appear, a face aching smile firmly planted itself on my face! If I listened carefully I could probably hear the crinkling of wrapping paper and the tones of Wizard playing in the background. All I needed was the smell of roast turkey and cranberry sauce!

With all this being said, I hope the inspiration for writing continues. Just a steady flow, even a trickle, just to keep my spirits up and avoid that abyss…

Nightly notion #6….

I’ve hit a roadblock with my novel. I find myself writing snippets, reading them back and nothing…not an ounce of intrigue or satisfaction. Perhaps I’m expecting too much from myself. I know I can do better though.

Oh to be back in the zone, words and juicy plot twists oozing on to the page. A spark of inspiration hit a few days ago resulting in a hefty chunk of deep and meaningful scribble. Where did it go? Yesterday and today have been as dry as the Sahara!

Maybe I’m not cut out for this authoring lark. I feel I have so much to write though. Perhaps it’s all mashed together and coming out the same, mashed and confused. How to decipher the jumble, I do not know and it is eating away at me.

My fingers are crossed that this is just writer’s block – how bold of me to call myself a writer – tomorrow will be the day. The day the ooze continues….

G’night all!