the yearning to travel
I’m a cheap stamp,
a bird with one wing.
the yearning to travel
I’m a cheap stamp,
a bird with one wing.
I love people who love. These are the folks who more often than not, end up winning.
We live in a world chewed up in success by numbers. The more money we have the better we are, the more adept we appear, the more intelligent we seem.
It’s horse. Love that will take you further.
Whenever I see small businesses, restaurants, shops, bars, take-aways and the rest of it, it’s apparent who’s in it for the money, and who’s in it for the love of their passion.
These are the winners. These are the guys who warm your bones when they welcome you inside, these are the people who just want to share. It might not make them a fortune in the short-term, but life’s a long game. And their businesses thrive through the years, quite often they pass them down.
It’s no different for art too. Authors, poets, artists, photographers, the world can see who’s in it because they think it will make them rich. We know when you’re on an ego trip or clawing for accolades and attention.
We want the shopkeeper who sells two hundred different types of honey, from two hundred different breeds of bee. Because when he’s not selling, he’s thinking about it, he’s loving it, he’s eating it. It doesn’t matter if he’s competing against giant shopping centre competition, it doesn’t matter if only 2% of the population actually even like honey. He’ll win sooner or later.
You can’t please everyone. You just can’t. It doesn’t matter if you sit down to write a novel that you think will take the entire world by storm, it won’t. There’ll always be somebody that calls it a shower of rubbish.
But it doesn’t matter, because we’re writer’s. We put ourselves out there.
So whether you write romance, or horror, dystopian or thrillers, mystery or YA, I salute you all.
Keep putting yourself out there, because what’s the worst that can happen?
It’s a tough old game for a debut novelist without experience and no direct contacts in the industry.
It’s even tougher when 90% of the book reviewers I think would like my book, are currently not accepting requests because they’ve already got 30,000 to get through!
It just makes me wonder, there must be a better way. But how? And what?
People of wordpress, do you have any better ideas?
The Block and I are old pals. He creeps up at the most significant moments, you know, when there’s a crucial chapter coming, or a self set deadline approaching.
I’ll roll back in the chair, peer at my smooth white ceiling and explode with expletives.
Ahhhh, Mr. Block, the trouble you’ve caused my neighbours.
I’ve tried pushing him to one side, but the words come out like mush. I’ve tried taking a walk, having a glass of vino (cheeky, I know), reading a book, but he always claws through any distraction.
I’ve even read about the git. They say he comes around with timing, apparently the ideas have not had enough time to stew. Sometimes he rears his ugly head at fear, the terror of ruining your work, or simply a paranoia that it isn’t good enough. Other’s put Mr. Block down to perfectionism.
Whatever draws him out, he’s a hell of a beast to put away.
That’s until I came up with the one and only George Derringer writer’s block smash in the mouth, knee in the groin technique. It kicks off a little bit like this- slide your work to one side. In fact wipe it from your thoughts. This is probably the hardest step in the process, but if you can go out with your friends, meet a member of the opposite sex, or use the salsa class coupon you’ve had sitting around for the previous six months, it’ll help.
Next, you’ll need to get through the day without writing. Don’t do a thing. Don’t consider it, don’t touch a pen or keyboard. Lay in bed with a cold sweat and stare at the bloody ceiling.
Finally, wake up, and write. Don’t pick up where you’ve left off, don’t go to the toilet, don’t brush your teeth. Just sit in that damn seat and thrash out anything. Spend thirty minutes, an hour, two hours writing the most pointless drivel that’s ever stirred in your thoughts. Get the furnace blowing on a runaway train of writing. Whirl up a jet engine of speed and vigour on the keyboard.
Stop. Open up your work where Mr. Block came for you.
Take the momentum at the inconsiderate git. Hit him with a tsunami of writing energy.
And he goes.
Washed away with the words.
This is a thank you.
My followers, there are over 50 of you these days. Some may be reading this with 200+, 500+, 5000+, but I’ll take the small victories. Perhaps I’ll look back at this day when you’ve absconded and smile at the peak of my powers.
50+ followers! It’s done some wild things to me. I’ve seen a change in myself.
A beautiful young lady approached me last night, she looked deep into my eyes, fiddled a strand of her hair and asked why I was looking so happy. Of course, with over 50 followers under my belt beautiful just wasn’t going to cut it. I smiled and told her I only spoke to supermodels.
I studied the pumps at the petrol station this morning, regular unleaded? You have to be kidding! A man like me? No chance. It’s premium unleaded these days. Would Cliff Richard or Phillip Schofield fill their tanks with peasant oil? I doubt it.
And in the supermarket, I studied the coffee brands. A woman hurried ahead of me to take the last jar of regular Nescafe. I chortled. Could you imagine a man like me, drinking a freeze dried brand like that? I’m a blogger with super powers, a head so big it could float a smaller man into space! So i picked the organic, fair trade, freshest, most ridiculously shaped jar of coffee to appease my ego.
So i must thank you dear followers. I am now skint and alone thanks to you.
There are ten specific steps that must be taken in order to write a best selling novel. Once you have followed each and every point to the letter, you will have made a fortune, became famous and your biggest problem will be what to do with your fan mail.
They are as follows:
If only it was that easy…
We all have our own way into this game. Some of us might struggle removing our heads from a book, others may have found peace in expression, some might have foolishly thought it was easy.
Because when writing has you, there’s no escape. (If you’ve found one, please let me know what it is, so I can erase the need to get busy on the keyboard and have more time for money and beaches and Cuba Libre’s.)
For me, it was a probably a combination of them all. I never assumed it would be easy, but I didn’t account for how hard it really would be.
I think I would’ve quit, if it wasn’t for one thing, poetry. Let’s make something clear, I don’t lay in bed at night and weep into sonnets, or sit in coffee shops with a rose in my mouth and a Walt Whitman collection pressed to my chest.
I like to write it. Poetry seems to be one of those cruel arts that gives the creator so much more pleasure than the audience.
That’s a beautiful thing.
I’ve been writing forever. It’s in my bones. So I’ve rounded up all those loose scraps of paper and crudely named word documents. I’m reading, editing, aligning each one for a chapbook. Not for money or fame, or reputation, just to, you know, keep me going between the next book.
It’s a fuel, poetry.
The World is a Cruel Place and We Can Only Confirm This Via Post, will be released on 01/11/2017.
‘My mother, the queen of horseshit.’
‘You could glue a doorbell to his head and ring it twenty times before anyone answered.’
‘I was a pig rolling in the thickest, stinkiest, most elephantine shit you’ve ever seen. We’re talking watery glaze on eyes happy. And that doesn’t happen often. When you’ve got ambitions like mine and you live in a place like Aberscombe, that sort of joy doesn’t fly often.’
‘Her sucking skills pumped a tougher punch than a Romanian on steroids.’
‘I can massage anything into Aberscombe.’
Check out the free preview-
I don’t normally do this. Talking politics on the internet isn’t a game anybody should take lightly.
But today, for one lunch break only, I’m going to spout a few words.
It’s these newspapers that’s got my goat. Every damn morning it’s always covering the same thing, immigration. And I bet the hair on my head, you’re thinking I lived in your country. I’d bet if you were reading this in the US, Australia, France, Germany, Spain, Canada, New Zealand, you’d pick up the papers and see the same thing daily.
But it’s not. This blog is coming from London, England. The original multi-cultural city.
Now, I don’t want to stick my nose into controls, into how many people should be allowed here or there, or what sort of regulations governments should put in place. The only thought I have is, STOP BLAMING OTHER PEOPLE.
If you’ve got a crappy job, take night classes, work hard, break your fingers to the bone and you’ll be rewarded. If you’re out of work and actually want to contribute, hassle every employer in your local area until somebody takes you on. If there are people loitering on your street at night, call the police. If you don’t feel safe in certain areas, take a friend, call the police, the council, just DO SOMETHING.