Category Archives: Writing Woes

I’m Sorry …

… for being so absent lately.

Though it isn’t an excuse, I’ll fall back on that dismal aspect of human nature and attempt to absolve myself of any wrongdoings by providing you with an adequate 3 point resource on how it’s really not my fault.

Point 1 – I’ve been so busy that if I were a Troll protecting the make believe bridge to Narnia I just made up right now, well, Narnia would no longer be Narnia – it would be the next best holiday destination. I have been writing though, about an article a week but woe is me, much of my time is taken up in maintaining active social media accounts for work.

You need a Twitter, Facebook or Google + guru right now, don’t look at me. I’m fresh out of ideas.

Point 2 – I have seriously pissed karma off and I don’t even know what I did. The amount of minor mishaps I have had with my skeleton over the past month would be enough to fill up a small encyclopaedia. Seriously. From toe injuries to wrist massacring’s, it’s a wonder I still resemble a human body. Fine, maybe not an encyclopaedia but a good weekend read in a grubby motel off Highway 5. At least.

Point 3 – I blame Trump because well, why wouldn’t you?

I don’t think history has ever provided us with such an apt “he is the cause of everything that’s wrong in this world, my life and this entire solar system really” excuse, people. Ever.

I am not kidding. It’s every man, woman and child for themselves and I can’t even copyright this one. Take it. Run with it.

I’ve been busy because Trump exists.

With that being said, I make no promises except an absolute true declaration – I have missed all of you. Truly.

I’ll try and make it up for it and write some more, or at least be more present if my fingers remain from that biyatch injury infliction.

I hope you’re listening karma. I’m a Hindu and I ain’t going anywhere so let’s try and be friends, okay? Or at least civil.

See you soon my peeps xoxo

power-of-faith

The Power of Faith

As a writer, I’m ashamed to admit that I rarely allow others a glimpse into my psyche and though I will often joke about my warped brain, the fact is I have always been a thinker.

Some consider this a boon but in all honesty I find that thinking too much is more painful than peaceful and wisdom can sometimes be, well, overrated.

Why?

Because there is a certain type of profound solace in simplicity and when it comes down to it, when I reminisce about knowledge, I picture a calming, peaceful, bright hue.

Not many people know this but some years ago I hurt my back, not exactly in a debilitating way (at least from a scientific perspective) but one that nevertheless paralysed me in living a life full of happiness and positivity through my late teens and into my early twenties.

During the time, I had begun to read a book called Living with the Himalayan Masters by Swami Rama and Autobiography of a Yogi by Sri Paramahansa Yogananda.

Now, I am a Hindu but I have been very fortunate to have been reared by parents who always pressed the importance of spirituality over any religion on my sister and I and for this, I will always be grateful.

So I really do hope that you see that the faith I am talking about is not attached to any particular religion or version of “God” but rather as a testament to the supremacy of faith and belief and Creative Life Force (as Sri Yukteswar Giri defines it) that we all have within us.

I haven’t had back pain for many years now, strongly believing that I had received a miracle of my own after a kind-hearted, gentle swami of my father’s told me with complete assurance that it had been fixed. Viewing it as my own version of a miracle that mirrored an event in the Autobiography of a Yogi, my mind, heart and soul completely believed his words and soon my back pain became a thing of the past.

Late last year however, it returned. I had nagging thoughts on how I couldn’t possibly deal with the pain all over again and how maybe I hadn’t received my miracle. In one short phrase – I had been infected with doubt.

One of the worst possible human emotions and weaknesses that any of us can let creep into our lives – doubt.

My parents have my whole life really, been my very own personal “God” in many ways and even their words of reassurance had little effect on the virus of doubt that was infiltrating my pores.

About two weeks ago I got a CT scan and the results were, to me at least, devastating. The problem had gotten worst according to my radiologist, and my doctor (who can’t read x-rays) made it appear to be even worse than my radiologist’s report.

After days of depression and heart-wrenching panic, I was in pain, plagued with mental and physical agony so I did some soul searching and sifted through my Autobiography of a Yogi copy and just opened random pages to “see the light”.

By utter chance, I landed on an excerpt where a disciple of Sri Yukteswar was beside himself because all the doctors he had seen had declared that he had a maximum of three months to live. The disciple had ran to his guru to beg for help and Sri Yukteswar has laughingly chided him for believing doctors who knew nothing about the Creative Force of all Beings and had proclaimed that he would be healed regardless of what any medical practitioners or experts stated.

The disciple had asked if he should continue with the medication to which his guru had replied – it’s up to you, take them or throw them, they will have no consequence on your health. The disciple got worse and worse by every passing hour but his faith remained steadfast, after all, his Guru had said he would be fine. Just when it looked like he had no hope, the next morning the disciple was completely healed – as if a miracle had just occurred before everyone’s eyes!

Though I am not comparing my situation with the dire one of this disciple, I decided last week, after reading this passage, that I too would have complete faith on my own miracle.

I didn’t care how it would happen, but all I knew is that it would happen – regardless of what anyone said or anything I saw.

Today, I went to my physiotherapist and though I had some trepidation, my faith remained steadfast. My Creative Life Force is unbreakable, undefeatable – omnipresent.

My CT scan had been misread and misdiagnosed by the radiologist; in fact, my back has one of the most beautiful curves (my physio’s words, not mine!).

I have my miracle and it’s one of the most beautiful feelings ever.

I have learnt two lessons from this:

1 – Positive thinking is absolutely the BEST medicine out there and it’s completely free and you don’t need a prescription.

2 – If you believe, I mean, truly believe no matter what, you WILL have your miracle, I promise it!

I know this is a long piece but for those of you who are down and in despair please know you are your very own version of “God” or a superpower. It’s all you, you just have to realise, experience and celebrate it.

Once you embrace the power we all are, you will quickly come to realise that YOU are omnipresent in every way!

Writing-Words

Write non-Write Balance

I just watched a video that discredited the whole elusive work-life balance thing we all crave.

It was for work and I got through four minutes of it thinking there’s four minutes of my life I’m never getting back because it really helped me in NO possible way for my actual job. Even after trying to deploy all my imaginative, creative abilities I pride myself on having honed until now.

But whatever – Another story.

What it did mention though is how the whole work-life balance concept is a piece of you know what because when you love something you do, the lines between work and play blur.

Sounds blissfully ignorant if you ask me.

The guy then mentioned how creatives (supposedly people like you and me) don’t believe in the concept of work life balance because we can’t shut off our creative brain no matter how much we try.

I don’t know about you but I can definitely shut my creative part of the brain. In fact, I would suggest that my “creative” part often leaves me lurching in the pitch bleakness of nothingness because it’s decides to go on an impromptu dark orgy with some buddies of it.

Again, another story.

After just having spat out three articles of varying degrees of dullness, today is definitely one of those days I wish I had more write and non-write balance. So to the irritating perky dude who declares work life balance is a façade for us mere folk who would love to be a beached walrus right now, I’d like to politely tell you to shut up.

I’d get more creative with my dismissive attitude but I can’t. My creative side just left me a note that says Do Not Disturb.

It’s Time for Some Honesty

You know those days when you realise you haven’t looked in the mirror for a while.

I mean metaphorically.

I admit it – I’ve been procrastinating. Writing the last couple of months has been nothing short of an ordeal for me, like Build Rome in a Day sort of suffering rather than incinerate it.

I’m not saying I’m cured or anything but the below video really helped to put things in perspective for me once more. It’s easy to forget the love I have in my bones for this beautiful creative piece of life and though I tend to feel brain dead most days with regards to creating words out of thin air recently, this video stirred that passionate, wanting desire I have for letters all over again and that’s got to be a good thing, right?

Don’t stop what you love people, just remember, fights are a normal part of an unhealthily healthy, obsessive, hot, overzealous love you have with something or someone. So to my writing gene, I have three words for you. Bring – It – ON.

Writer's Block

It’s Cold & the Writing Part of my Brain is Frozen.

I swear, this is a viable condition often experienced by Writer’s in winter. It’s called Frozen Writer’s block. There’s no cure except for gluttonous extreme vegetation in front of the BBC channel for inspiration.

You know that saying, one girl’s loss is another one’s gain. You’re welcome, another week free of punishment from my brain. Don’t say I don’t give you anything.

Disclaimer: For faster results, attack the virus with a never ending supply of buttered popcorn and unhealthy salt and fake cheese infused Cheese and Bacon Balls.

Let me know if you want my address or I could just lie here with my mouth open and you can pelt junk food into it. See, there’s a positive to everything – even Frozen Writer’s Block.

Can't tell you from a Bar of Soap

Beetroot Beatrice can’t tell you from a Bar of Soap …

Just another saying I do not get.

Isn’t this stating the obvious?

Pray tell what angle I should be looking at you from to ascertain the resemblance between your noggin and a bar of soap?

What was the person who came up with this metaphor on?

Clearly he/she was high … from all the soap fumes they had been exposed to in their obsessive compulsive bathing phase.

Seriously?

So, though you can find the very unimaginative (in fact this one was so bland even the author hash-tagged it #boring. Kudos to self-critiquing acceptance, I’ll join you one day. In the next life … perhaps) origins of this ridiculous saying here, I thought I’d give you the true, real version. The one everyone is too scared to tell you about because it’s made up of the stuff that inspires Horror Stories.

This saying was developed by Beetroot Beatrice; she was a friend of an ancestor. No scratch that. She was the ancestor of a friend of a friend. No one in my family came up with this one.

Beetroot Beatrice hailed from the great Aussie outback, somewhere near Uluru because I like rocks. But this is Beetroot’s story. Beatrice was nicknamed Beetroot Beatrice because she was purple. Hellllooooo!

And the kids weren’t quite as cruel yet to call her anything else. The anti-bullying programs were better those days. Plus Tellytubbies hadn’t been developed yet either.

Anyway I digress.

Beetroot Beatrice was very self-conscious about her purplish tinge and decided, against her … and her friends … and her parents’ better judgment to wash the purple “off” of her.

When a day and a half of incessant scrubbing didn’t work (in fact, it kind of had the opposite effect and made her more purple), she decided that the colour infliction must evolve from the inside of her so she decided to clean her intestines with soap and proceeded to eat it bit by bit. As a sidebar, if I had been born, I could have told Beatrice that this didn’t work and instead resulted in preposterous and mind numbing continuous hiccupping but I wasn’t. So tough luck but whatever.

Legend has it that Beatrice’s parents came back from a Fly Fishing expedition only to find a semi-conscious Beatrice maddeningly repeating the phrase, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap” continuously. Apparently, Beetroot Beatrice was confined to her bed in the Mental asylum for the next forty five years torturously repeating the words, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”, “can’t tell you from a bar of soap”.

You get the picture.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, Beatrice died on the “can’t tell you …” section and never got to finish the sentence according to her psychiatrist Mr. Bath (I know – an unfortunate coincidence).

Poor Beetroot Beatrice. Apparently she still haunts the sand dunes of which ever place is closest to you so next time you take a bath, make sure you check your soap hasn’t had a bite taken out of it.

I know. Scary stuff.

You’ll never take a bath the same way again, will you?

Those are the power of words. And soap.

But pretty much, mostly words.

Writing a Novel

Write for the Likes or for your Like?

It’s a question all of us writers have been (or will be) inevitably faced with, let’s be honest.

Do you write for yourself or do you write to become popular?

But here’s the deal:

When you write for the masses you get recognition. When you write for yourself, it’s this amazing cathartic experience that may keep you off the suicide watch program. Though slit my wrists Suzie may have been pushed to the backburner for a little while, chances are no one else really cares.

Write for everyone and at least you get a comment or two amongst that deafening crickets’ sound I at least, have become so very well versed with.

My suggestion?

I’ll be damned if I know.

What?

C’mon, it’s not like you come to this blog for answers is it? Because if it is, please don’t.

Really.

I already have enough lawsuits led by Psychiatrists around the world against me and I’m kinda broke, so the joke’s on them.

But still, I don’t want your insanity on my conscious. You have been adequately warned. Just be entertained or at least pretend to be, my ego bruises easily.

Thanks. xoxo