Tag: aspiring writer

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fiction Stories Writing

Chapter 3, Erin

Of course, I worried a little initially about the horror stories I had heard. The trolls, the glamorous accounts of false lives to make me feel awful about my own, the mass of uneducated opinions, the dangerously fast addiction and everything else in between, but I never thought much about it all after a while. Besides being sixteen in 2019 meant that I had a firm grasp of what lay before me and felt strong enough to cope with life on social media.

At the beginning I tried to remain strong anyway. It was more to prove a point to my mum but a fraction of it was fear of the inevitable. I could feel instantly the addiction looming. After two days of having access to the virtual social world, my phone was the first thing I went to pick up in the morning and the last thing that I put down at night. I spent hours scrolling and still do, but I don’t know why because after doing so I have never gained anything more or lost anything – my life remains exactly as it was.

On days when I feel bad about my own image, Instagram strengthens this sad emotion when I witness the accounts not of celebrities but of my own friends looking like celebrities. Their accounts fill my newsfeed with perfection and no flaws. The perfect brunch, the most exotic holiday venues, the prettiest new haircuts that look better than I looked that time when I had my hair and all my makeup done by a professional for a family wedding back in Ireland.

At the weekend I see friends and acquaintances out having fun. I always think to myself how they are doing the things that I should be doing when I am visiting Mummy or at work. Friends who have gone to places without even asking me so of course I feel totally left out and forgotten. Acquaintances who I don’t even care about doing things that make my Saturday night look so boring and suddenly I am deeply involved with care for the comparison.

On a more distant level, I see opinions all the time that I completely disagree with or that make me so angry that I can feel my face going red. I see people being horrible openly in their statuses or indirect Tweets and I laugh a little inside in agreement, but never would I say it to their face. I don’t wish to be involved with that kind of negative behaviour, but it is too easy to get sucked in.

When it all began though, I didn’t and still don’t feel I got too involved. I always stayed back and never posted much on my own accounts. The last picture I posted on Instagram which I also posted onto my Facebook account was wishing Jack a Happy Birthday in May. I made a collage of photos of the two of us from when we were very little up until our holiday in Ireland last year.

I am finding it very hard to see how my involvement affected anything. I guess you never know what is happening behind somebody’s eyes. Their thoughts and feelings are totally invisible which is the danger when they don’t discuss anything going on inside their head. I have been over all our accounts since finding out, even hers which is hurtful to do, and nothing seems too awful, but it must have seemed awful to her.

Categories
Non-fiction Writing

I write because…

I write because it’s therapy

I write because I’m lucky

I write because I have the opportunity

I write because it’s fun

I write because it makes me happy

I write because it is my sanity

I write because sometimes I’m sad

I write because sometimes I’m happy

I write because it teaches me

I write because I need to

I write because I escape

I write because it tests me

I write because it helps others

I write because it helps me

I write to express myself

I write because I love it

I write because I want to

Categories
fiction Writing

The Perfect Home

As soon as Mary pulled onto the drive, she felt that she was at home. After the chaos and living for so long with her mother she knew that anywhere would bring her more comfort than the current situation that she was in, but this place felt more special than that.

The house stood proudly in the sunlight with its green front door matching that of the garage.

‘My favourite,’ she exclaimed as if someone had painted it that colour on purpose as a selling technique.

She smiled as she left the car and headed towards the fine-looking estate agent waiting happily for her on the driveway. Seeing her face, he thought he had an easy task on his hands and Mary knew that he wasn’t wrong.

‘Hello there Mary, I’m Simon.’

‘Hello.’

‘I can see from your face that you already like what you see, let’s head on in.’

The place was bright from the entrance with every wall painted in warming but light colours. The kitchen, again with a green theme, the exact green that Mary adored, was spacious and airy. The floors were cool and the whole vibe felt as if she was in a villa in a remote area of Portugal.

‘It’s perfect,’ she said, thinking out loud.

‘Don’t be too hasty,’ Simon replied in a joking but careful manner, knowing that he was told to be gentle as Mary was a vulnerable customer. ‘I would actually like to let you see the garden first and work our way back through if you are happy with that?’

‘Absolutely.’

The garden was in full sunlight with different levels and little grass. The small patch that was present was lusciously green and there were all sorts of plants dotted about. Hydrangeas, Lavender, grasses blowing in the breeze and a beautiful Honeysuckle just starting to flower from a deep pink spiky bud. Merely looking at the garden made Mary smile and the feeling of being somewhere relaxing and exotic remained, the pebbles enhancing this.

‘Wow,’ she said not knowing how else to express her happiness. She realised fully that it was a small place and wouldn’t be too impressionable to most, but it was perfect for her.

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

The Write Mood

Aspiring to be a writer is a tricky thing. Not only does it take time and effort, but it takes a strong and confident mindset too. This is something that I sometimes forget to have.

I firmly believe (and know from experience) that being in my twenties is tough. I’m not yet settled, I am single, I don’t own a house, I have no responsibilities, no notion of the future and a constant comparison to others. Whether this is going to be the case throughout my life, I am yet to find out, but all I know is this stage of life in contrast to younger years.

My mood towards life and my future goes in a pattern of waves. Sometimes I am full of energy and can’t write fast enough for all the projects that I have on the go. Sometimes I write five blog posts in an hour, a novel in six months and tiredness never comes into it because I’m so passionate. I know I’ll succeed and take every bit of feedback, every rejection, every personal opinion asking me what I’m “actually doing with my life” in a positive light and strive for a bright future ahead of me.

Other times I have no motivation, I feel overwhelmed with my workload, I have a novel on hold for six months and I feel completely tired all of the time. I take every nugget of advice as criticism, I doubt my every move, all rejection is a black hole and I feel skeptical about the whole thing.

Being a creative, I have the tendency to exaggerate. The other day I woke in the stormy weather to realise that my car windows were open and my key was at my friend’s house. Knowing I couldn’t close it without a key, I thought up the most unrealistic and extreme scenario that I could and concluded that my car would be struck by lightning, the water would cause an explosion which would set alight my grass, our house and then the entire neighborhood. Of course, I was wrong. This is the mind of a writer after all.

I have to remember this when I’m thinking about my future too. I will think up the worst case scenarios and fixate on them which is dangerous. I’ll always be single, I’ll never afford to buy a house, I won’t ever get published. What am I doing?

My busy brain got the better of me one morning last week and to shut it up I meditated. Whether meditation is for you or not, I think it teaches a huge skill in life. That skill is pretty much not to think too much and to live fully in the moment.

Think about things to a certain extent, but not too much that it removes a passion, or happiness, or peace. When things get too much – stop. Focus on the moment, enjoy the here and now, count your blessings and live.

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

My Writing Space: what it means to me

If I have learnt nothing else from my time as an aspiring writer it’s that if the space in which I am trying to write in isn’t right then, I am not going to get a lot of writing done.

Sometimes I choose my desk. On it there is a radio, some twinkling fairy lights inside a glass jar (pointless but important), a photo of my Grandad and I at my 21st, candles, place mats, my laptop and an owl pot filled with corks and stones (again, totally useless but crucial).

From my desk I can look out to a view over fields. In the summer this view is gorgeously clear, blue skies and greenery. Occasionally it is blurred through the raindrops hitting the window, but that just makes me more thankful that I am inside and at my desk. On a good winters day the view is spectacularly white from frost or snow and it is, especially when writing, one of my favorite views.

Sometimes I choose the sofa. Since getting our puppy who is extremely lovable if not a little bit of a distraction, I struggle to work upstairs at my desk if nobody else is around. This is why I have acquired a new working space on the corner sofa that is so comfortable that if hungover I simply sleep and no words are written. Sometimes my feet are up, sometimes they are not but always my slippers are on. My dog, Arkley, likes to nestle in between me and my laptop on my lap, listening intently to me reading short stories aloud while editing them.

Sometimes I choose outside. When the weather is being nice, I just have to work outdoors. There is a little bench in my garden and the sun is guartuneed to shine on one seat. That is the seat I choose to sit at. I lay everything out as if on my desk; my laptop, diary, coffee and usually another sugary beverage to spark up some extra motivation. Here, I enjoy the warmth while producing more material.

Then there’s my other place. A house of my friends which I find so special when it comes to my writing. I discovered while house sitting there that it had a good effect on my writing. New ideas flowed and the motivation lingered so that I just couldn’t stop. Whether it was changing my space or something in the air over that pocket of land, I’m not sure, but there is something in it that means a lot to me and my work.

One day, I know (hope) I live in a wonderful house looking out over a lake because water too helps me and my words. Whenever I got to the beach even if I don’t intend to, I write or note down so many ideas which flow out of my overwhelmed mind. Being by water is certainly something for the soul, but it helps my writing too.

So as pernickety as this all may sound, these are the spaces in which I like to write and they are very special to me.

Categories
Non-fiction Observations Writing

Keeping up with the socials

Being a young person isn’t easy. Being a person isn’t always easy. Particularly if that person is starting out a business or a new career through which social media is essential.

In this day and age many people can’t go to the toilet without announcing it on Facebook. They can’t go to the supermarket and bag themselves a bargain without a Tweet to say how fabulous they feel. They can’t sit and do some work without capturing the setup of their laptop, coffee and diary in a structured fashion. I am a huge culprit of this.

I would be lying if I said all of what you see on my social media accounts is the reality. Of course I edit photos from nights out, I big up scenarios to make them sound better than they were and I comment on other people’s feeds far more enthusiastically and witty than I would be if in conversation with them in real life.

Above all in the hyper-reality league table come my writing social feeds. Since aspiring to be an author and realising fast that a lot of the publicity would be up to me whether I self publish or get signed by an agent, I set up a Facebook page, a blog, an Instagram site and a Twitter account all dedicated to my life as an aspiring writer.

Instantly the followers crept in as did the supportive messages from other like-minded individuals. The trouble was that I soon realised I needed to be posting a lot more than I did (and that still needs to be increased).

After having my Instagram account for a week and posting every three days, I knew instantly that I needed to increase that to every day. My blog, Twitter and Facebook feeds are works in progress too as I desperately try to increase my activity (and find the time to do so).

This task sounds easy to some but trust me it is a lot more difficult than you would think. Firstly figuring out what to post about and which images to use is a tricky task, but being motivated and in the mood to post all the time is another thing altogether.

I have been known to post about my fabulously sunny afternoon (#Friyay) making me so happy while in floods of tears, severely hormonal. I have been known to post a sunny idyllic setup, when in fact I am in bed. I have been known to make my views about something sound exceedingly positive when I am breaking inside with negativity over it.

However, it isn’t all doom and gloom. I am getting the hang of it and trying to be ever more real with all of my feeds while also coming across so many other accounts where people are doing great.

Ultimately, I find social media a positive tool in business and careers. Judging by the accounts I follow and from talking to friends I think it’s comforting to people going through health issues and such like, writing about their situation, inspiring others and gaining a boost through those who are suffering with them. I think it’s encouraging to those training for a big event and using social media for advice, enthusiasm and good vibes. It’s also good to know that so many people support you and most only wish you well.

So, while using social networks for publicity of career aspirations, awareness around health issues, or support for a big event is a struggle, a full time job and difficult to increase a following when you’re a nobody, social media is (mostly) brilliant for this!

(In my opinion)

Categories
Writing

Excerpt from Chapter 6, London 1988

She could see signs everywhere and arrows and exits. There were members of staff stood around not doing much at all and others who looked rushed off their feet, so she wondered why they didn’t get better at sharing the workload. The first bag came around the corner and a very happy couple grabbed it finding it hilarious that they didn’t have to wait and could beat the traffic queues. Mary hoped that the smug couple’s car battery had run down like it had on her mum’s car when they were due to go to her gran’s once or that they couldn’t find their keys. Then she silently had a word with herself for being so cynical as they were probably lovely people, she was just bored of walking then waiting then walking so much.

Once they had grabbed their bags and Séan had figured out taxi numbers and prices with the very helpful lady in the tourist information centre, they headed to the rank for another waiting episode during which Mary observed maturely the goings on around her. She often did this and anybody who she openly spoke to about what she perceived would tell her that she had an old head. She never knew what they meant by this expression but nodded and continued her inspections.

The taxi driver was very nice, but he too had that funny accent the same as the man on the passport desk. The taxi was also something new and one thing about England that she had seen photographed – the black cab. She couldn’t remember where she had seen it and gathered that tourist shops in Ireland wouldn’t be promoting very English memorabilia, but she had definitely seen a picture of the famous British feature. She thought it was surreal to be witnessing the reality of these vehicles and cooler still to be travelling inside one.

Mary had always felt that the traffic was bad in Dublin but London trumped Dublin’s busiest times. For the entire journey all Mary heard was the beeping of horns from angry drivers. She found it funny to watch the anger show all over their faces and in the dramatic hand gestures which were sometimes quite rude. What all the fuss was about she didn’t know, nor could she understand why people thought that making this commotion inside your car would help the traffic move more smoothly.

Luckily the two of them were in no rush so the traffic was ok. It will be different when her dad begins work, she noted. This train of thought entering her head made her wonder what her dad was planning to do for work over in London and whether he had sold McDintons or kept it in case they decided to move back home.

All of these questions she stored away for a later date because she felt it too soon to be bombarding her dad with them. Besides, for all she knew he could be feeling quite nervous too.

She couldn’t believe how absorbed in the goings on back home she had been not to notice conversations about the pub or her dad’s work. She was used to listening in on her parent’s conversations always wanting to know absolutely everything but without her mum she figured that no conversation was interesting enough for her to care about anymore.

The chat between her dad and the taxi driver was pretty boring in Mary’s opinion which was why her mind was focussed on other topics. She hadn’t been in many taxis in her lifetime because mostly they spent their free time in the city; if they had gone away it would have been with an auntie or her parents, so they would have taken the car. She did remember in the few taxi rides she’d had there were similarly dull discussions during them though. It was full of what she understood as being small talk. She’d never wanted to travel far if she was with her mother because she worried it would get awkward as her mum often ran out of things to say. Séan on the other hand never had this problem and was the king of this small talk which he was demonstrating in the current situation.

As they got closer to their destination which was unknown to Mary, the houses became larger and less cramped together. The tacky looking newsagents which were cropping up every other building before had vanished and the dirty streets had become much cleaner. Some of the fronts of the buildings looked more like palaces than people’s homes and Mary wondered which one the queen lived in. Perhaps it was one of those. Perhaps they were to be staying with a member of the royal family. She swiftly stopped those thoughts knowing with certainty that the Queen lived at Buckingham Palace and hoped that her dad would take her there quite soon.

Even though it had been drilled into her from a young age that she had Irish blood and the English were very much a separate entity, one thing she had always loved about England from the little that she knew was the royal family. She had watched Princess Diana and Prince Charles’ wedding on her auntie’s television during the summer holidays. She sat there for the whole day being fed ice cream and fruit but not moving her eyes from the box. Her aunt was having a party which most certainly was not in aid of the wedding, but Mary removed herself from this and was utterly absorbed by Dianna’s beauty and the sheer Britishness of it all. She realised that this was going against all morals that her parents had taught her but, in that moment, she didn’t care at all.

Categories
Observations Writing

Easy Like A Sunday Morning: a writer’s take

Sundays. What a brilliant day. Aren’t they just the best day of the week?

No work (for most people), a quiet space (in most places) and an all round chilled vibe.

As an aspiring writer, I struggle through the week to squeeze everything into my tight schedule. Of course, I have a full time job on top of all the writing that I do because what writer starting out doesn’t? But also I find that I take on so many different projects and this can be both good and bad.

For my brain and writing capabilities it is good to test out different styles and writing for different purposes. I gain experience in writing fiction, press releases, blog posts, academic essays and the list goes on which is great.

On the other hand, it can all get too much and occasionally I find myself unable to work to the best of my ability because I am trying to cram so much into the little time that I have in between shifts.

This is why I LOVE Sundays.

Not only is it an opportunity to have a BREAK and time out away from my laptop (just like I am NOT doing now on a sunny Sunday morning writing this post), but it also gives me time to concentrate, get into the writing zone and dedicate quality time to some of the projects that pass by so fleetingly throughout the week.

Whenever I look back at the work that I have done (whenever I get a chance to do so) the best quality are the pieces I have written on days where I have had more time and haven’t been constantly checking the clock to see how long I have left. Days where I have chosen to sit down and write at the time I choose and for however long it takes are the days where I produce the best stuff.

And there’s no better time to produce the good work than on a Sunday. The air feels clear, the diary is empty and the vibes are strong.

It’s ‘easy like a Sunday morning.’