The journey is long and arduous, many will perish along the way but you will not. It is your strength of character, your foresight your vision that will direct you to a well spring of ideas. Yet one of the things I’ve always suffered with is consistency, you must be consistent in order to accomplish your goals. Leadership is a lot to do with learning , as you are excelling you are growing. Growth is a painful process, rebirth is a painful process and yet here you are standing, breathing, believing still.
Everybody goes through challenges, everybody experiences life and it’s heartbreak. One thing that should always help you is that you triumphed against it. You are still standing, so you have the opportunity to channel your potential, do you believe in limitations. Don’t believe in them, don’t feed into the fear these obstacles create. Sometimes we walk through life blind folded, eager to find ways to fix our sight. Yet one should always remember, passion is vision, it is hope for the future , this will give you sight even on your darkest days. You have a self to celebrate, a self to discover, you are a version that is being shaped and moulded. A butterfly locked in a crystals, yet someday soon the ghosts that clamour inside, clawing at your skin, the demons of past failure and pain left like a scent will disappear. The new you will be the self the universe promised. You are in the process of development, platelets will shift, biochemistry will be unpredictable for a time, then you will arise a new self.
We all have them, faces that thrive upon seeing us fail. People who have polluted their lives and their own options with their own self contempt, that there is no option for them,in their minds, simply to grit their teeth and his at what were becoming. I’ll say it once and I’ll say it twice, it is not your job to fix all the broken souls in the world. People who mentally crucify themselves with their own poor choices and judgement, then unleash hell unto you. You are nobodys punching bag. Your journey is different , your soul needs healing. In life as writers and facilitators of our own script,as we tap into a greater more infinite self,there will be trials. There will be obstacles. Those obstacles leave you with your own sense of trauma, each time, you need to call collect to the spirit, and the guardian for a top up just to survive the frey. Yet we are warriors still, triumphant in our stance,magnificent in our journey, never let anyone still your armour.That armour is your self esteem, the ability to infuse mind with ideas that leap out at us, and provide the source for our pens. Use your mind, it is part of your shield and the pulse of your armour. As a creative it is your gem.
It never stops does it. I was thinking about the anxiety we experience when it comes to our work, the fear of not being good enough, worthy enough, or sharp enough to execute. Everybody goes through it.It is a ear of two selves. The hardest thing to do is believe in something you cannot see yet, whilst the rest of the world, thrash at you with their commentary, and looks of disappointment. You must have tunnel vision at all times, this is not their vision, it’s yours. This is not their passion it’s yours, it’s your promise to yourself. Have a schedule and execute daily, believe in your potential, even if your talking to yourself on the street challenging your mind, you must be able to talk yourself into success. You must be able to facilitate new habits that will get you to where you need to get to. There is a difference between wishing upon a star, a dream and having a method.
It’s with faith we do things, we take risks that there is no guarantee will pay off. No guarantee you will land on solid ground once you leap into the air blind, yet thrust yourself you must. Trust yourself you must. It is madness when we leap blind not to trust the self. I was thinking today about all the time i had to take a risk on myself, seeing the dream that others could not see, touching it, feeling it, enveloping myself in it. There were days when I felt like backing down, when the put downs of others kept me alienated from my highest self, wishing that I could be, or think like everybody else. It lasted but aminute, and I returned to seeing what I saw with my vision untainted. Channeling the wisdom and the faith that had planted itself deep within, like a stubborn seed, angry to be removed. My dreams gave me a voice, they fueled my hunger, they held my hand as I leapt ungracefully a stumbling gazelle in the mist of my own imagination. I tell you now, as I said to myself in journals, letters, on dictaphones, at least try and fail, then learn and grow. At least develop, at least challenge yourself and at least believe in your potential.
We tremble at the mercy of a pen, pinched words lost sentences in translation. A brain that is mercilessly stoic at times, we find ourselves engulfed in ideas and questions that keep us circulating hungrily for answers. Where do I see this work going? What is its progression? Who would it appeal to? I have half written up to a thousand books in my head, scribbled them out daintily signed and sealed the manuscripts posting them to some eager editor who awaited with baited breath. In reality I am still challenged by the quirks of constructing a novel, be it fiction or non,manuscripts are masterpieces of the mind, they are gateways into the soul , confiscating curtains which seal and barricade the mind from the truth. What you write may be fiction, but there is a part of it that awakens a sleeping Goliath, truth. Why is truth a Goliath, because in the mind as a writer it is so easily bent and folded, then after being worked and reworked , stands David, a shining reckless parable of complex components, yet a deeper truth. The truth is never hollow. It is founded upon stories that the eye whispers to it, and the ears gossip.
Terry and Tommy, funny names for characters in love, but that’s where my journey as a writer began…in dreams. When I couldn’t get to sleep I used to tell myself bed time stories with these two characters that always fell in love after a series of very complicated events. One of them would hate each other from the start, and then over time they would begin to fall for the strengths and the beauty of one another. I was a hopeless romantic as a child, you couldn’t keep me away from the Jude deverauxs, Judith Mcnaught and my addiction Millsand Boons novels. The characters always met in the middle, the characters always fell in love, and their love consumed the busy pages of my notebooks scattered all around my room. Love has its trials and for me it’s trials are the complications of the characters. When I was older I took to inventing my own nuances of love. A 5 ft something fair skinned guy that used to live two streets away from me in the sixth form. I used to scribble love letters to him at the early dawn and directly post them to his letter box, poor guy, beautiful smile. I remember the way his eyes twinkled and the butterflies I felt each time I captured that feeling on the page, then in time, I realised, it was my feeling. It didn’t belong to him because he didn’t feel such a way, I remember the way he walked commandeering the wind, his jacket slicing through air like a blade. He was a beautiful man, but I think I like Shakespeare have always been in love with the idea of being in love. Maybe if you love someone else for a minute you can escape yourself, after all , your attention is elsewhere. Yet in reality we should develop rather than try to escape.
Yesterday I thought about something so frustrating it baffled me. The ideal of love versus it’s realities. Someone I know used to tell me that love itself is chemicals in the brain, signals the body sends, and yet even in my most jaded and awake moments I’d like to believe it’s more than that. For me as an author a writer, someone very passionate, id like to believe it is more compelling than this. It is it’s own animal, with its own story,and less of the scientific and the biology please. Love is expression, of the highest order of the truest self. We unleash a secret part of ourselves, gated and protected, letting the world creep in. We are both with and without form, a noun and nameless, a print, and an invisible stencil upon someone’s heart. When you go through loneliness the ache is so bad, like a starving child in a third world country, you need that human interaction , that depth of conversation, those moments to admire someone separate from you, those moments to let the heat suffocate your sanity. Here’s to love and all its madness.
I was listening to a motivational video this morning as I often do to spur me on from writers block, or any negative chi blocks in the morning. The topic was being obsessed. The argument was that as an omnipotent figure in the design of your work, you have to become obsessed with it, consumed by it, go beyond the basic hard work skeleton. You see, a story is formulating already. We are the stories we tell ourselves, the beliefs we have in our potential. If we believe we can produce 2000 more words in the night , this night, we will. The mind is as water it is a free thing, mind and brain are separate. The brain has a structure, a format an organ, the mind is an infinitive. It will take you to where eagles soar, a phoenix laid it’s first egg, man mated with sea beast to form the first mermaid, it is wizardry. To not tap into its Pandora, and allow yourself a little of the Jekyll in you, should be identified as self treason. Your life is your mind, the internal dialogue you have within yourself , a rhetoric we hold unto. Yet with the Mozart’s, and the Einstein’s, and the Marx I recommend we change a little of the conversation, tilt that gate open and let some of that river shimmer out.
Discipline is a sturdy word. Yet i would say, go for practice, go for consistency, take a chunk out of the big dream and break it down. Shrink it in your minds eye until its nothing but a nugget. Dreams can be scary things, at times foreboding. There’s a change of habit involved, that word we detest so much sacrifice, and sometimes we even loose people. Yet what if in the long run, you gain so much more? What if that belief you had, is not just talk anymore, you can look at your reflection in the mirror with pride and say you know what if I was picking a team, id pick me. Id pick me as first draft, striker, ace, wild card, id trust me, id invest in me, my words actually mean something.
Someone once called me a hypocrite. Life makes hypocrites of us all, you find yourself contradicting decisions you make, second guessing yourselves, challenging a mind that was once glue. Yet all of a sudden each thought is banana skin, you slip in and out of it. Let me let you in on a secret, such is life. It is the evolution of the self. With every big dream we take on, we shed a little bit of our old skin, we become fragmented leaving pieces of ourselves in translation. Love yourself, don’t loose yourself in the war to be successful. My friend it is a war. You will combat with those who are familiar with the you that is part of their safe zone, you will be resented at times for stepping apart from the crowd, yet to move with distinction, you must step outside of the prison of a small mind. You must learn to forgive yourself, some of the errors you will make in the area of consistency, and you must accept that who you become tomorrow is a product of what you did today. Time is the most expensive thing to waste. It is non negotiable, and cannot be bartered.