Anybody Can Write a Novel 2.0
Chapter 10 “The Writing Life” – Section 5 “Love of Craft”
“Tell me all your stories, tell me all the feelings about your stories. And I'll compassionately accept you, your feelings, and your stories.” - JP Sears (On how to speak to ourselves)
One of the biggest dangers that I've discovered in the writing craft is in defining one's self-worth from it. With stories, writing, or art being so integral to our lives, it is hard not to let it singularly define us instead of letting it be healthy part of us. As a result, we judge ourselves based on warped standards for writing that come from other writers, from critics, or even from ourselves. For me, this becomes a particular
While I wait, the city moves around me. People pass me as they briskly walk to their destinations. They hardly pay any mind to their path; instead they are mesmerized by the cell phones and devices they carry. Some don't even notice when they nearly graze me. Anything could happen, and everyone is so hyper-focused on their own self, that they wouldn't notice.
Traffic clogs the streets in somewhat organized lines. Vehicles crawl, protesting with horns and shouting. Everyone is in their own world, even in the cars. A distant siren occasionally adds to the cacophony.
If I listen carefully, I can hear some noise at the end of the alley. They're a bit indistinct. I sigh as I realize I was much earlier than what I liked. The sounds stop sho
To feel worthless in your own skin
To have heart impaled on pike
And be spurned by dear kin
Waking up, but day is as the night
Dark horizons and predators abound
Seeking to devour all your light
No morning chime, no, not a sound
For value is measured by possessions
By stature and status are we weighed
Never forgotten, not even in recessions
Just a rat race is all we have played
When “if only” is your favorite phrase
And all your dreams are so far away
You fight another battle in all this haze
But tomorrow is doom, and darkness rules today
It would be so easy just to cave
Let life go on without you
No more pain, no need to rave
After all, you were only a “who?”
But the truth of it is surprising
No matter how low you sink
Hope never stops rising
You’re more valuable than you think
I've learned many things from the psych wards. I've learned that cutting is an option to try and control emotions. I've learned to lie when people ask how I'm doing. I've learned to avoid confrontation whenever possible. The hardest thing I've learned from all of my psych warding was this one thing: once you hit 18, no one cares anymore. Adults aren't worth the effort to save or help. The staff only make a token effort for adults.
Every kid wants love and affection from somebody, be it a friend, relative, teacher or whomever. Early on, I lost faith in people. I was a 'mistake'. The reason my parents married a couple years before they'd planned to.
to the darkest hour,
And the darkest minute
to the brightest week,
And the raging month
to each baleful year;
I still remain here,
wallowing in loathsome misery.
Grains of sand
crack the hourglass,
Spilling it's contents
into the ocean,
forged from undying tears...
You can never sate my thirst
for sorrowful memories,
Nor can you break
this sworn soul
from it's somber reverie;
You cannot temper fate.
Nails grating on chalkboard,
glass grinding against metal,
That is all people are to me...
A hindrance; a nuisance
getting in the way of my work.
They say know your worth,
stand up for yourself,
don't let it get to you...
But when they
don't get under your skin,
get pushed back
when they push you;
When they are unable
to burrow into your tender psyche...
The wounds break open again,
until you can sew them closed,
finding some long lost remedy...
Cauterize them with the fire
forged fresh from your heart's hearth;
Your very flesh coming alive...
Only to die in vain,