A note about fear.

Fear is something everyone experiences at some point in their lives.  It's a natural human instinct, and often a good one as it helps us avoid situations that are potentially hazardous to our health and/or continued existence.

This kind of fear is healthy.  It's meant to keep you alive in a life or death scenario.  Or at the very least make you more aware of your surroundings in CASE fight or flight becomes necessary.

Then there are other kinds of fear.  Less healthy, less rational, less easy to control/conquer.

Like phobias.  I have a MAJOR phobia of spiders.  I have NO idea where it came from, all I know is that if I see a spider I shriek like a little girl and run as far as I can in the opposite direction screaming for someone to kill it.

Then there's my fear of failure.  I know where that came from, but even knowing doesn't help me set it aside.  It's this insidious voice that has the power to paralyze me before I even start something.  It tells me that I'm going to fail, so why bother trying?

I wish I didn't listen to it, but I always seem to fall for it.  And so I never try.

Until now.

This blog is me trying.  This is me trying to get some words on a page (screen, whatever) at least once every couple of days, if not every day.  Because the more I do it the more writing becomes a habit.  And I'm hoping that habit will eventually pan out into a career.

So shut the hell up voice.  I'm done with you and your negativity.

It's time to start trying.  And yeah, that maybe means failing a time or five.  But as long as I learn something from each failure, as long as I pick myself up again and keep trying, then it's not really a failure, it's just an exercise.

And all exercise is worthwhile.

Remember that.  And keep dreaming.  And make sure you dream big.  Even if you shoot for the moon and miss, you'll still end up in the stars.

Writing about the weather.

Weather is interesting because it's never static.  One sunny day isn't necessarily the same as the next and a lot of the description depends on how the author feels about the weather in general.  A sunny day can be pleasant, with summer breezes and the laughter of children.  Or it can be scorching, a hammer that beats down upon the heads of people who do not seek shelter from its reach.  As you can see, it all depends on the connotation.

Let me tell you about the weather I had to drive home in today.

Driving home today was like waging a war between myself and the elements.  The sky was a dome of unrelieved gunmetal grey.  Each puddle on the ground a landmine waiting to catch the unwary off guard and send them spinning off the road.  And the rain was an unrelenting spray of cold, wet bullets against the windshield.

It was the kind of weather where visibility was next to nothing and if someone in front of you didn't have their lights on, the only way you could tell they were even there was from the plumes of water spraying up from their tyres.  A day where you hovered cautiously at 90kph in case you had to try and stop suddenly.

It was a day where you pull into your driveway and say a silent prayer of thanks that you have made it safely home to where the warm fires burn and the horrors of the road can be left outside.

Hopefully no one else has had this kind of driving experience because I can tell you it's not very fun.  Not even putting on the bounciest, happiest music I could find in my CD collection helped.

I'm glad to be home.

But hey, at least it gave me something to write about.

Keep dreaming everyone.

Writing prompt: My voice is...

Taken from your writing mentor (credit where credit's due ne?) this is a 5 minute writing exercise designed to just word salad the crap out of a page just to show how much writing can actually be done in five minutes.  And it doesn't even have to be good! It's just about getting what's in your head onto the page so you can sort it out later, deciding what to keep, what to expand on, what really is just pure and utter crap.

Note: I am looking up writing exercises all over the net and will try to link to where I originally found them when I can.

Ok, timer set.

Five minutes starts...now.

My voice is:

Loud, occasionally obnoxious, bold, confident, sometimes overpowering, strong.

My voice is:

Unique.  Sometimes I say things on a complete tangent to the discussion at hand and people look at me funny, even though in my mind the diversion is completely logical.  Sometimes I have to explain to them how I arrived there, but usually they get it.  Or they shrug it off and ignore me (I suspect this happens more often than not and people are just humoring me).

My voice is:

Me.  It is such an integral part of who I am.  I need to communicate, to speak, to have my ideas heard.  And I think that can be a bit intimidating for people.

My voice is:

A strange mixture of British and American accents (apparently).  And though I try to talk slowly, when I get excited, I start talking so fast that only those who are used to the frantic pace of my speech are able to keep up.

My voice is:

Probably one of the best and worst parts of me.  Best because I have no problem making myself heard.  Worst because I'm so busy trying to be heard that I don't hear others.

This year I need to try to talk less and listen more.  Be interesting to see how that goes.

Ding, time's up.

Well that's all the time I have tonight.  Until next time, keep dreaming :)

Welcome to my dream.

Or my sometimes nightmare.  Depends on how my day has been.  Either way, welcome to my creative space.  Here I'm going to be playing with ideas, thoughts about writing, writing exercises and whatever else I feel is beneficial to getting the creative juices flowing.  Because of course, the key to being good at anything is to practice.  Hopefully with enough practice, motivation and of course some talent (which, not to sound egotistical but I think I at least have that), I'll soon be writing romance novels that, at the very least, bring a little magic into someone's day.

Because what is life without a little magic?

So for my first writing exercise, I showed my wonderful husband a list of topics and he chose for me to write about a poem that I remember.  And actually it's a toss-up between two; In Flander's Fields by John McCrae and The Lesson by Roger McGough.

In Flander's Fields - John McCrae

"In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields."

I remember, In Flander's Fields because I had to learn it in primary school for a presentation we were doing about World War 1.  Originally there were three of us learning it, one for each verse and of course as we were saying our lines, we'd pass the torch, like in the poem, for dramatic effect.  But when the night of the presentation came around, the other two students were a no-show.  My teacher said that we could scrap it if I didn't feel confident doing it solo.  Well, even back then I was a little on the precocious side and said I'd do it by myself, I'd learned all of it in practice.  So I did.  Even back then I liked how dramatic, yet sad it was.  I loved the contrast between the birds still singing even though guns were booming and firing.

The second poem is one I learned in high school.  We were doing our poetry module in English and the teacher had chosen that poem for it's classic rhyming scheme (and I strongly suspect because she liked the fact that the teacher slaughters all his unruly students and there were times she dearly wished she could do the same and get away with it).  I loved the gruesomeness of it and how that darkness was set off by the fun rhyme pattern.  Some of the imagery was awesome too, I loved the line about silence shuffling forward with it's hands up in the air.  As though it were surrendering,  To this day, despite how dark and morbid it is, it remains one of my favourites.  So here, for your reading pleasure:

The Lesson - Richard McGough

"Chaos ruled OK in the classroom
as bravely the teacher walked in
the hooligans ignored him
his voice was lost in the din

"The theme for today is violence
and homework will be set
I'm going to teach you a lesson
one that you'll never forget"

He picked on a boy who was shouting
and throttled him then and there
then garrotted the girl behind him
(the one with grotty hair)

Then sword in hand he hacked his way
between the chattering rows"
First come, first severed" he declared
"fingers, feet or toes"

He threw the sword at a latecome
rit struck with deadly aim
then pulling out a shotgun
he continued with his game

The first blast cleared the backrow
(where those who skive hang out)
they collapsed like rubber dinghies
when the plug's pulled out

"Please may I leave the room sir?"
a trembling vandal enquired
"Of course you may" said teacher
put the gun to his temple and fired

The Head popped a head round the doorway
to see why a din was being made
nodded understandingly
then tossed in a grenade

And when the ammo was well spent
with blood on every chair
Silence shuffled forward
with its hands up in the air

The teacher surveyed the carnage
the dying and the dead
He waggled a finger severely
"Now let that be a lesson" he said."

Gruesome huh? But beautifully written all the same.  There are many other poems I enjoy, but those two I remember best, probably because I learned them at such an early age (ish, one I was 7 or so the other a teenager, so sort of young).

Well there you go, you kind of got a two-for-one there.  I hope this exercise inspires you to think about the poetry you like, maybe even write some of your own, even if it's only a dirty limerick or haiku.

Until next time, keep dreaming.