Hi Everyone,
I saw an advertisement on television the other day about gambling awareness and it hit me hard, not because I gamble, (I can't afford to) but because I write.
I have loved writing all my life and because I am striving to get published, all the fun has gone out of it. I don't even enjoy it anymore, the whole process has lost its spark. I have been concentrating so hard on getting every last detail perfect for a prospective publisher, that I literally lost the plot.
I became obsessed with getting published; it was everything. If I couldn't get published then I was obviously no good at writing, so I might as well throw in the towel, then I saw the advert.
I took a long hard look at my writing goals and projects and thought, does it really matter if I don't get published? So what if I'm not successful; I'm obviously not good enough to be published, but I'm good enough for me.
So I've put all ideas of success and being a published author out of my head, I'm only making myself miserable chasing something that's clearly out of reach. The book I've been working on has been thrown into the archive storage; maybe I'll look at it again one day, maybe I won't. Who cares? Not me, not anymore.
I wrote a short story over the weekend. It wasn't perfect, there were obvious mistakes and a bit of dodgy spelling and punctuation, but I had fun writing it; the spark of enjoyment was igniting again and when I read it back, it was good, my heart had gone into it instead of my head. It had passion and genuine feeling. It will never go anywhere; it's meant for my eyes only.
I maybe a crap writer with no chance of ever being published, but I love to write and that's what I'll continue to do. Life's not about being rich, famous and recognised, it's for living and being happy, doing the things you enjoy and that's good enough for me.
Until next time
Follow your dreams, chase your desires . . . but only if it makes you happy.
Monday, 12 March 2018
Saturday, 13 January 2018
THE PROMISE; personal demons
Hello everyone
I think I have just realised why my life is so miserable; I'm being punished.
When I was 11, I made a promise to my dad, I kept that promise for over 30 years but 14 years ago because of my own selfishness, I broke it and nothing in my life has gone right since.
My dad was dying, he knew it, we knew it. There was only the three of us, mum, dad and me. One day he called me into the bedroom and made me promise that after he had gone I would look after my mum and never leave her (that was her biggest fear; being left alone) At 11 years old I happily made the promise; three months later he died.
I grew up, had boyfriends, got married, had three gorgeous kids and we all lived happily in my mums house; for a while. Things went bad as they so often do when your that young, I was 19. My husband wanted to move away which was perfectly reasonable until I remembered the promise. In the end we split up and went our separate ways, other issues were involved but that was at the back of it. He moved out while me and the kids continued to stay with my mum.
All was fine until 14 years ago when I met a man. The kids were grown up and had kids of their own, mum was getting on in years but still active and healthy, so I did the unthinkable, I moved out. Mum was never the same after that; she still spoke to me, but her tone was different; I'd broken her heart, she knew about the promise, obviously dad had told her. She reminded me one day, just casually saying, 'you said you'd never leave.'
She even took me back after the relationship ended, let me come home, but things were never the same; a couple of years later she passed too. Her landlord wanted me out of the house so me and my son had to leave. I got a flat that was attached to my job but when I got made redundant that went too, I now have this tiny one bed flat after seven months of sleeping in the car but since leaving my mums nowhere feels like home.
I've looked up various things about breaking a promise and all of them say there is ALWAYS a price to pay. As far as I'm concerned I will never be out of debt; I made that promise and I broke it, it took over 30 years but I still broke it and nothing I do will change that.
until next time; think before you make a promise.
I think I have just realised why my life is so miserable; I'm being punished.
When I was 11, I made a promise to my dad, I kept that promise for over 30 years but 14 years ago because of my own selfishness, I broke it and nothing in my life has gone right since.
My dad was dying, he knew it, we knew it. There was only the three of us, mum, dad and me. One day he called me into the bedroom and made me promise that after he had gone I would look after my mum and never leave her (that was her biggest fear; being left alone) At 11 years old I happily made the promise; three months later he died.
I grew up, had boyfriends, got married, had three gorgeous kids and we all lived happily in my mums house; for a while. Things went bad as they so often do when your that young, I was 19. My husband wanted to move away which was perfectly reasonable until I remembered the promise. In the end we split up and went our separate ways, other issues were involved but that was at the back of it. He moved out while me and the kids continued to stay with my mum.
All was fine until 14 years ago when I met a man. The kids were grown up and had kids of their own, mum was getting on in years but still active and healthy, so I did the unthinkable, I moved out. Mum was never the same after that; she still spoke to me, but her tone was different; I'd broken her heart, she knew about the promise, obviously dad had told her. She reminded me one day, just casually saying, 'you said you'd never leave.'
She even took me back after the relationship ended, let me come home, but things were never the same; a couple of years later she passed too. Her landlord wanted me out of the house so me and my son had to leave. I got a flat that was attached to my job but when I got made redundant that went too, I now have this tiny one bed flat after seven months of sleeping in the car but since leaving my mums nowhere feels like home.
I've looked up various things about breaking a promise and all of them say there is ALWAYS a price to pay. As far as I'm concerned I will never be out of debt; I made that promise and I broke it, it took over 30 years but I still broke it and nothing I do will change that.
until next time; think before you make a promise.
Sunday, 26 November 2017
Day 18,983
Hello everyone
I know it's been a long time, but with rising rent, strange letters to my landlord popping through my letterbox from different banks and a constant supply of bills, I've had to take on another job.
I'm sure there is something wrong. The letters are marked as confidential and to be opened immediately, they look very official. So I have to take them to the estate agent and let them deal with them. I am now worried in case the landlord decides to sell the flat or something else happens which forces me out.
The new job is only part time, just two hours a night five nights a week, which means I usually go straight from my fulltime one onto the new one, which means I'm working 60 plus hours a week again and still only just scraping by and leaves very little time for writing. I start work at eight in the morning and finish at eight or nine in the evening and by then I'm knackered.
I do manage to write a little at weekends, but again only in the evening after six when I finish my day job and as I work seven days a week, it doesn't leave much time.
I re-read some of my novel the other day and must admit, it's lame; a bit too tame. First mistake. I was so eager to get it out into the world when I'd finished it, that I ignored a basic rule, when it's done put it away for a good few months and ignore it before taking it out and re-reading it.
I'm not surprised it was rejected; it does read well and there were no mistakes but it just needs a damn good kick up the arse. So for now I'm giving up on the novels and turning my attention to short stories for competitions, with feedback.
The title of this piece may seem a little odd, but give or take a few leap years 18,983 days, is roughly how long I've been alive and barring a handful, most of them have been crap and they're still not getting any better. It doesn't seem to matter how long or hard I work, or what I do, nothing ever changes.
I'm working myself to death at the moment, not only to pay bills, rent, etc, but to try and save enough for a deposit on a two bed place. My poor son is still sleeping on the floor, he isn't working due to his bad feet and has no money. He needs his own room, a place to call his own and by whatever means, I will supply it.
As for me, I'm still breathing and still writing, whenever I get the chance. I hope everyone is having a more productive time, good luck with all your writing projects, until next time; all we can do is keep going.
I know it's been a long time, but with rising rent, strange letters to my landlord popping through my letterbox from different banks and a constant supply of bills, I've had to take on another job.
I'm sure there is something wrong. The letters are marked as confidential and to be opened immediately, they look very official. So I have to take them to the estate agent and let them deal with them. I am now worried in case the landlord decides to sell the flat or something else happens which forces me out.
The new job is only part time, just two hours a night five nights a week, which means I usually go straight from my fulltime one onto the new one, which means I'm working 60 plus hours a week again and still only just scraping by and leaves very little time for writing. I start work at eight in the morning and finish at eight or nine in the evening and by then I'm knackered.
I do manage to write a little at weekends, but again only in the evening after six when I finish my day job and as I work seven days a week, it doesn't leave much time.
I re-read some of my novel the other day and must admit, it's lame; a bit too tame. First mistake. I was so eager to get it out into the world when I'd finished it, that I ignored a basic rule, when it's done put it away for a good few months and ignore it before taking it out and re-reading it.
I'm not surprised it was rejected; it does read well and there were no mistakes but it just needs a damn good kick up the arse. So for now I'm giving up on the novels and turning my attention to short stories for competitions, with feedback.
The title of this piece may seem a little odd, but give or take a few leap years 18,983 days, is roughly how long I've been alive and barring a handful, most of them have been crap and they're still not getting any better. It doesn't seem to matter how long or hard I work, or what I do, nothing ever changes.
I'm working myself to death at the moment, not only to pay bills, rent, etc, but to try and save enough for a deposit on a two bed place. My poor son is still sleeping on the floor, he isn't working due to his bad feet and has no money. He needs his own room, a place to call his own and by whatever means, I will supply it.
As for me, I'm still breathing and still writing, whenever I get the chance. I hope everyone is having a more productive time, good luck with all your writing projects, until next time; all we can do is keep going.
Friday, 8 September 2017
Defeated, Beaten, Loser.
Hello everyone,
Yes that's me and how I feel.
My novel has been out by itself in the big, wide world and has received nothing, not even a glimmer of acknowledgement other than the automated , 'yes we got it,' email,
I have exhausted every publisher in this country that is willing to look at unsolicited MSS and I've got nowhere. I was considering sending it to other countries but don't really see the point, (maybe one day.)
I am halfway through my second novel, but am beginning to feel that it too will be a waste of time, as I am sure it will just sit on my laptop taking up space
I have looked into self publishing, but don't have the money, they are all asking upwards of £1500 to £2000 and that's just for a basic package.
I feel as if I have wasted 40 years of my life on writing; don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed it, I love writing, I love the creative process of a written jigsaw, breathing life into characters, but as far as getting anything published, its been one disappointment after another. I've had some luck with short stories, but that was many moons ago.
I'm toying with the idea of entering writing competitions at the moment in various magazines. They all give cash prizes, some of them as much as £300 and the entry costs as little as £3 if you're a subscriber, (which I am for writing magazine)
All the stories are themed, so I don't get to chose my own subject, which is a shame, but I'm sure I can relate it to horror in some way. The other good magazine for competitions is Writer's Forum, their prizes are smaller but there is no theme.
Hopefully, next time I will have something happier to say.
Good luck to everyone who continues to write, swallow rejection, disappointment and misery.
Yes that's me and how I feel.
My novel has been out by itself in the big, wide world and has received nothing, not even a glimmer of acknowledgement other than the automated , 'yes we got it,' email,
I have exhausted every publisher in this country that is willing to look at unsolicited MSS and I've got nowhere. I was considering sending it to other countries but don't really see the point, (maybe one day.)
I am halfway through my second novel, but am beginning to feel that it too will be a waste of time, as I am sure it will just sit on my laptop taking up space
I have looked into self publishing, but don't have the money, they are all asking upwards of £1500 to £2000 and that's just for a basic package.
I feel as if I have wasted 40 years of my life on writing; don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed it, I love writing, I love the creative process of a written jigsaw, breathing life into characters, but as far as getting anything published, its been one disappointment after another. I've had some luck with short stories, but that was many moons ago.
I'm toying with the idea of entering writing competitions at the moment in various magazines. They all give cash prizes, some of them as much as £300 and the entry costs as little as £3 if you're a subscriber, (which I am for writing magazine)
All the stories are themed, so I don't get to chose my own subject, which is a shame, but I'm sure I can relate it to horror in some way. The other good magazine for competitions is Writer's Forum, their prizes are smaller but there is no theme.
Hopefully, next time I will have something happier to say.
Good luck to everyone who continues to write, swallow rejection, disappointment and misery.
Monday, 10 July 2017
A Short Story
THE HUNGER
The summer house remains, its origins a mystery now; a drifter through time, slipping between worlds, decayed and broken but never falling; a deadly visitor, the eater of children, the destroyer of lives.
Enticing the innocent into its shrouded domain, it waits with the promise of base camps and dens; places to play, secrets to share; an army camp on Monday, a dolls house on Wednesday. It waits silently for the curious to stumble upon.
It is always eager, desperate for the fresh, young souls, for it has a voracious appetite.
I played there once, lured in by its earthy scent and almost hidden location. I was a robber hiding out from the police and in the end, they found me, the officers with their sniffer dogs.
They say my body was unmarked. Slumped in the corner looking as if I'd fallen asleep and forgotten to wake up.
If only they knew the truth.
The sudden sense of isolation, the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. Its painted skin rippling with anticipation. Vibrations so subtle that only the hair on your arms can detect. The ancient wood, porous, thirsty, the very bones of the beast, sighing, breathing.
A chill in the air, almost imperceptible as it makes its move, siphoning your soul from its body, dredging the foundations of your mortality.
The damp wood beckons, you sit as tiredness overwhelms you, until the vessel that housed your being is empty, drained of its life force, you are dead.
The summer house remains, its origins a mystery now; a drifter through time, slipping between worlds, decayed and broken but never falling; a deadly visitor, the eater of children, the destroyer of lives.
Enticing the innocent into its shrouded domain, it waits with the promise of base camps and dens; places to play, secrets to share; an army camp on Monday, a dolls house on Wednesday. It waits silently for the curious to stumble upon.
It is always eager, desperate for the fresh, young souls, for it has a voracious appetite.
I played there once, lured in by its earthy scent and almost hidden location. I was a robber hiding out from the police and in the end, they found me, the officers with their sniffer dogs.
They say my body was unmarked. Slumped in the corner looking as if I'd fallen asleep and forgotten to wake up.
If only they knew the truth.
The sudden sense of isolation, the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. Its painted skin rippling with anticipation. Vibrations so subtle that only the hair on your arms can detect. The ancient wood, porous, thirsty, the very bones of the beast, sighing, breathing.
A chill in the air, almost imperceptible as it makes its move, siphoning your soul from its body, dredging the foundations of your mortality.
The damp wood beckons, you sit as tiredness overwhelms you, until the vessel that housed your being is empty, drained of its life force, you are dead.
Friday, 7 July 2017
Nothing To Lose
Hello everyone,
I have discovered a site on fb called Inkitt for showcasing my work and entered a competition they were running. If you win, you get your novel published, so I thought, why not? I'll give it a go, I have nothing to lose and maybe everything to gain.
The competition seems to be judged by readers, you upload your novel to their site and other readers and entrants judge it's merit. Readers can also download a certain amount of copies for free. Not ideal, but my novel is better off on their site than hiding inside my laptop where no one will see it. It's also linked to my fb page and Reditt, It is called THE TORMENTED (and is really tormenting me at the moment) Please feel free to give it a look and a review. (PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE) The more good reviews I get the better.
I have now sent said novel to five different publishers, although three were encouraging, they said it wasn't quite right for them. Austin Macauly said they loved it and would be delighted to publish it, at a price. It seems that because I'm a first time author and have no proper credentials, I would have to pay a percentage of the publishing costs, (nearly £3000) I declined.
I am also entering a few short stories to various places. I'm scouring the internet and fb for free short story competitions, there are a lot that charge an entry fee as well as a reading fee, please do check the terms and conditions of any and all competitions as sometimes they are very well hidden.
There are another three publishing companies I'm going to contact, (agents seem so aloof) I've contacted seven agents and only one of them was nice enough to reply, they said, no thank you, but at least they were polite, the other six just ignored me. So I'm busy tracking down publishing houses that allow you to submit unsolicited MSS,( they are more elusive than ghosts)
Anyway that's enough rambling for now; I'm on holiday from work this week,( the days have flown by almost un-noticed) but I am getting a lot of writing done and my second novel is coming along nicely, good luck to all fellow scribblers; until next time.
I have discovered a site on fb called Inkitt for showcasing my work and entered a competition they were running. If you win, you get your novel published, so I thought, why not? I'll give it a go, I have nothing to lose and maybe everything to gain.
The competition seems to be judged by readers, you upload your novel to their site and other readers and entrants judge it's merit. Readers can also download a certain amount of copies for free. Not ideal, but my novel is better off on their site than hiding inside my laptop where no one will see it. It's also linked to my fb page and Reditt, It is called THE TORMENTED (and is really tormenting me at the moment) Please feel free to give it a look and a review. (PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE) The more good reviews I get the better.
I have now sent said novel to five different publishers, although three were encouraging, they said it wasn't quite right for them. Austin Macauly said they loved it and would be delighted to publish it, at a price. It seems that because I'm a first time author and have no proper credentials, I would have to pay a percentage of the publishing costs, (nearly £3000) I declined.
I am also entering a few short stories to various places. I'm scouring the internet and fb for free short story competitions, there are a lot that charge an entry fee as well as a reading fee, please do check the terms and conditions of any and all competitions as sometimes they are very well hidden.
There are another three publishing companies I'm going to contact, (agents seem so aloof) I've contacted seven agents and only one of them was nice enough to reply, they said, no thank you, but at least they were polite, the other six just ignored me. So I'm busy tracking down publishing houses that allow you to submit unsolicited MSS,( they are more elusive than ghosts)
Anyway that's enough rambling for now; I'm on holiday from work this week,( the days have flown by almost un-noticed) but I am getting a lot of writing done and my second novel is coming along nicely, good luck to all fellow scribblers; until next time.
Wednesday, 24 May 2017
DeJaVu
Hello everyone
today finds me possibly driving in reverse, on a road I travelled 18 months ago and prayed I would never have to travel again. The word redundancy reached my ears today as I toiled away in the garden centre. Word on site is that the powers that be are considering closing the centre down and selling the land off to the local council or a private developer.
My heart leapt into my mouth and I felt sick. No, not again, this can't be happening.
As my little seven day a week cleaning job is in the same centre, I stand to lose both jobs, leaving me once again with nothing. No job means no money, no money means goodbye little flat, hello car.
I have been saving, putting a little of my wages away every month, but it is by no means enough.
I can't face it again; my cats are settled here, they have even made friends. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
The garden centre has been there since I was a child, I thought it was safe. I have spoken to the manager incase it was just an option; I wish I hadn't. Apparently five other locations they have across the country have been closed down.
So here we go again, checking out the job sites, I won't even get redundancy money this time as I haven't eve been there a year yet. The writing of my second book, (still no news on the first one) was going very well, I was happy and settled and the words just seemed to flow. I could picture every scene as clearly as if I were watching it on tv, I began to live the book and become a part of it. Now my mind is filled with fear; I am scared. The manager said nothing will happen until at least the end of this year, beginning of next; some small comfort I suppose.
I wish you all productive and happy writing, until next time.
today finds me possibly driving in reverse, on a road I travelled 18 months ago and prayed I would never have to travel again. The word redundancy reached my ears today as I toiled away in the garden centre. Word on site is that the powers that be are considering closing the centre down and selling the land off to the local council or a private developer.
My heart leapt into my mouth and I felt sick. No, not again, this can't be happening.
As my little seven day a week cleaning job is in the same centre, I stand to lose both jobs, leaving me once again with nothing. No job means no money, no money means goodbye little flat, hello car.
I have been saving, putting a little of my wages away every month, but it is by no means enough.
I can't face it again; my cats are settled here, they have even made friends. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
The garden centre has been there since I was a child, I thought it was safe. I have spoken to the manager incase it was just an option; I wish I hadn't. Apparently five other locations they have across the country have been closed down.
So here we go again, checking out the job sites, I won't even get redundancy money this time as I haven't eve been there a year yet. The writing of my second book, (still no news on the first one) was going very well, I was happy and settled and the words just seemed to flow. I could picture every scene as clearly as if I were watching it on tv, I began to live the book and become a part of it. Now my mind is filled with fear; I am scared. The manager said nothing will happen until at least the end of this year, beginning of next; some small comfort I suppose.
I wish you all productive and happy writing, until next time.
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