Lay in Silence

As my eyes close, I hear them talk,

Speaking to themselves as though I’m not even here.

The silence is disturbing, the dark is intrusive,

But the voice in my head rings louder than pain.

I lay in silence as my head dares to rest,

Without a purpose to wake again.

The voices are damning, although they’re not real,

So perhaps this life is filled with deception.

What must I do, when no one can hear them?

Do I embrace their lies, pretend they’re not poison?

I lay in silence as the world falls still,

Without a single word to tell me what’s real.

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Pushing through that second draft

Now, if you’ve followed my confusing, babbling posts, you’ll know that I write, or at least, I claim to.

We all know how daunting it is to finish that first draft, but if you have pushed through that final page, you’ll know just how bitter-sweet a feeling it is.

Now, there’s no shame in admitting defeat at this point. What you’ve created is something incredible, but I struggle to even think about that second draft. Time and time I try, and time and time again I hate myself for writing such rubbish, even if it’s not.

Do you constantly have that urge to start over? Tell yourself that a fresh start is probably better than editing? Well stop with that thought. Don’t touch your novel for a day or two from this moment, and just think about it. Speculation of your work is far greater than reading through it over and over, spotting tiny errors, building a false impression that your time as wasted.

Once time has passed, after thinking abou your story, go back to it, and force yourself to fall in love with that scene, with those characters, with your work. Then, you’ll find yourself twitching to bsck into your weird little world, and crwtate something you can finny say you’re proud of.

The Dark

I’m afraid of the closing of a past lifetime,

That dying light at the end of my horizons.

The dark send terror through my very existence,

Knowing I’ll soon forget the breeze of a thousand twilights.

The passing of a loved one marks the ticking of my time,

But what else can I do other than wait?

Wait for the curse of life’s greatest downfall,

Or perhaps embrace it as a gift of God?

The eclipse of my days may be set in stone,

But why can’t I resist the fear?

I feel it beckoning, disguised as the sun,

Yet there’s a shadow lurking beneath the rays.

Soon I shall pass, and not even know it,

Yet I still fear the very thing I was born to do.

University (THIS POST MAKES NO SENSE)

Okay, I’ve finally done it. I have finally hit that stage where I can no longer endure University without ranting about it. I have officially became “one of them”.

So, none of you are aware of the fact that in September, I enrolled to university to study Animal Science & Welfare, and just like everyone else, I was excited. I enrolled, moved into my new accommodation, Freshers was awesome! ………………… annnddd then real-life began to kick in.

Now, there’s only so more immaturity I can bare within the space of six months. I may be sounding a little grumpy (well, I am!), but let me explain; first of all, there’s the people who you are bid to share a floor with. Yes, I’m fortunate to live in a room of my own, accompanied with the sweet solidarity of my en-suite, but it’s not enough to drown out the sound of blaring, irritating music at 4am on a constant basis. Now, I’m not being a Grinch here, but the music was so loud I’m sure I could feel the headache for the next day.

My time living with the Cave-Trolls has been an experience and a half. Some okay, some terrible. Nothing has seemed to be “amazing”, other than the fact that everyone like the shortbread I made. In short, student halls has been so frustrating, that I wonder why I even bothered in the first place. Yes, it’s an effective way to meet new people, but it’s also a good way to find out just how many noisy buggers can cram into one tiny kitchen. And to top that all off, it is SO. DAMN. EXPENSIVE.

You thought the £9k tuition fee a year was bad enough? Well, here’s another £1.5k A TERM to get you by, and that doesn’t include the £2.80 wash cycle and the £1.80 dryer (I can hear my mother sopping as we speak, for some clothes did not feel the sweet release of cleanliness).

Okay, so as per usual, none of this makes any sense, and my writing is far less sctuctured than usual as once again I’ve been awake for 24hours playing Super Smash Bros. rather than finishing off my work or adding the final tweaks to my novel (which should be done soon, I’ll keep you updated… if you ever care… please care I worked really hard on it), but you get the jist.

Now, some of you may not have stepped foot into Uni yet (or college), so please don’t let me put you off (you can do that yourself). No, University is great when done right, and clearly I didn’t do it the right way. I can see how this type of environment can be stimulating yet rewarding, if the shoe fits. If your degree is good, then bravo! If your living experience is just as good, then I envy you.

But seriously if your degree is any good please let me know, as I’m about one grammatical error away from locking a lecturer in with an agitated Chipmunk.

Defining a writer

There’s nothing more painful than reading success stories, while your unfinished project remains open for the fifth year.

It’s probably best not to read into how J. K Rowling’s success came out of the blue, but I suppose there’s some inspiration to take from it. After all, if we don’t believe we can get somewhere, then there’s no point in doing anything at all.

I’m forever flicking through countless articles of what makes a writer a true writer, but in all honest, most of them are filled with over the top money making schemes that takes away what is essential in the art of writing – personality.

What is the point in trying so hard to work out the ways of the novel? What do we benefit from taking lessons on how a certain character should act? Not much, in my opinion. There’s a delicacy involved when creating your own world. It is literally taking a part of your self, and bleeding it into electronic ink so finely, that you can call it your own. Taking away the creativity and adding in structured lessons you found online, is just taking away what makes you a true writer.

Yet, there are other issues I need to face other than originality. Patience and determination is just a few amongst dozens of others. But perseverance is the most important. One day, I’ll get there, and I’m sure it will be awful and lacking of all correct structure and dialogue. But it will be mine, a part of me that I plucked out so carefully, and crafted it into something worth my own time.

As usual, I’m babbling, but I hope there some form of clarity to be found. Don’t define your stories based on what other deem useful. Write about what you want, not what you think is essential.