In case you’re looking for an unconventional summer read or if you enjoyed the Frames fragments I’ve shared with you so far, then you should take advantage of the Amazon giveaway and download it for free or offer it as a gift to someone who might like it. Happy reading!
“You mean you never loved me?”
He interrupted her again, resorting to his old ways. Or maybe those were still his ways… Whatever the truth was, his old behaviour triggered something in her, the standard response, her own typical old and destructive behaviour in response to his. But she knew better now. She acknowledged the impulse and extinguished it, the way she wished she could have done so many times in what seemed a different lifetime. Closing her eyes, she could envision the children they used to be and wished she could take away their pain. Now, however, they were individually responsible for what they were; and while she felt sorry for the boy he’d been, she lacked any sort of empathy for the man he was.
A glowing review is a delight for any author. But receiving such a review from a writer you admire is a priceless treat. Thank you for your beautiful words, Carol!
I’ve always liked Ana Linden’s books. She’s very good at getting inside her characters’ heads.
Frames consists of four short character driven stories. These are not ordinary characters and through their flaws Ana Linden gives us insight into relationships and human nature.
The subjects of her stories range from the damaged educational system, the cruelty of abuse, loneliness, losers and guilt.
Linden’s writing is not ordinary. She is unafraid to show the rawness of human nature in a unique literary voice. She is an artist using words as her medium. It is reflective writing. The stories in Frames are the kind that you want to savor and allow the beauty of the writing sink in. There is no sermonizing in these stories and we understand what is not being said. This makes for quite satisfying reading.
Visit Carol Balawyder’s site for the full review of Frames and if you have a moment to spare, check out her books as well. She is such a gifted writer!
It’s a matter of attitude, his brother told him. They can sense losers and they’ll eventually dump you, so you might as well treat them like shit from the beginning, he continued his lecture on seduction. As far as treating women like shit, his brother did live by that rule. He usually empathized with the girls his brother dated –even now that he was forty, the girls he dated were rarely over twenty.
He empathized, because he saw those girls being treated the same way he was treated by everyone, less then, somehow handicapped, inferior human beings. Then he got angry with all of them, the ones he met, those he’d never know, but who flocked around his brother and other men who behaved the same way. Most of these girls were beautiful, educated, sophisticated, yet they allowed to be treated like dirt… They allowed to be lied to, ignored, used, and when they were cast away, they kept coming back for more abuse.
Yes, he was lonely and he was jealous with his wife… and it was not that trivial mundane kind of jealousy afflicting so many other men. He took off his glasses and started to slowly and thoroughly clean them… nervous behaviour, or rather, behaviour meant to disguise his nervousness and buy him time to calm down. But she wasn’t there to ask him why he was nervous. No, he didn’t feel like going home, just like he didn’t feel like walking through her uncared-for vegetable garden, just like…
The door flung open, quick heavy footsteps accompanied by a young self-absorbed boy invading his reflective solitude.
Much as she hated to admit it, there was a certain comfort and complicity in that room… two old friends catching up, picking up where they left off. Fifteen years apart couldn’t erase the familiarity of growing up together, of knowing what had shaped them and the marks they’d left on each other’s soul. Certain people can become a part of you, when they’re your support system and you’re theirs, when you’ve shared the best and the worst of moments. That was why severing all ties with him wouldn’t have been her first choice… That was also why she had to do it, when she understood it was the only way he could have a future with somebody else. But she never explained her decision, nor did she even announce it. Instead, she disappeared. Ghosting wasn’t a coined term back then, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.
Hopes and dreams weren’t for the likes of him; every time he forgot what his mother taught him, he needed to be put in his place… and life never failed to do so. Nevertheless, anger started to bubble inside him. Much as he tried to tell himself otherwise, he still felt he didn’t deserve to be overlooked this time. Moreover, his mother’s words were gaining a grotesquely unfair tone and his brother’s haunting image infuriated him even more. Exhaustion got the best of him, but his sleep was fraught with frustration distorted memories shaped into nightmares. Nothing makes for a scarier nightmare than reality.
Frames by Ana Linden is now available on Amazon.
That sort of pressure can break a couple and words like divorce or separation were starting to explode in the middle of passive aggressive conflicts. They still loved each other, they still wanted to spend their old age in each other’s company. But in spite of how they were perceived by the children they taught, they weren’t that old yet; and sometimes routine and frustration are a lot easier to face alone rather than have them constantly mirrored by the person next to you, feeling guilty for their unhappiness and blaming them for yours.
She agrees. After all, just because – for some unknown reason – she feels inclined to overshare, it doesn’t mean he should do the same. They only met that morning and even if she has decided he would make for a pleasant fling, she has no long-term intentions. It would be wrong to lead him on… But that doesn’t mean she can’t allow herself to enjoy all sensations a man like him can provide. Intensity of any sort isn’t something she cares to avoid. If anything, she craves it and this is the time to offer herself everything she can. He has become a part of that “everything” as soon as she calmed down during their drive to the hotel. When he suggested drinks in the evening, she felt relieved not to have misread their mutual attraction and also animated by the fact that a man like him still wanted her. Handsome, successful and cultured, surely he can have any young woman he wants… and he chose her. That vain side of her personality was doing a happy dance the entire afternoon.
I’ve set myself a small blogging goal for this first month of summer. I’m not much of a review writer – in fact, I thoroughly avoid it – but I do want to share a few thoughts about two or three books I read recently.
As a self-published writer, I know how much reviews matter to indie authors. Yet, I must admit, I’m still uncomfortable reviewing other people’s books. Just because I like or dislike something, that doesn’t mean, everyone has to feel the same, I keep reminding myself. I also need to remind myself that a review and literary analysis are two very different animals, so I don’t fall into old habits. But once in a while, especially when it comes to fellow bloggers whose writing I appreciate, I can’t help talking about their books. So I hope you enjoy their works as much as I did, should you decide to give them a try.
On a different note… Yes, my friends, I finally went and did it. Yours not-so-crazy-about-social-media truly has joined Twitter – @AnaLindenAuthor ! I still have mixed feelings about the event, but I’m giving it a try. So be patient with me and if you also have a Twitter account, let me know and maybe I’ll see you there as well.
I had been looking forward to that getaway for months – a trip I wasn’t sure would materialize – and as I was driving that early morning, it was finally beginning to feel real. It was real. That patch of beautiful wild flowers featured in my title story, Frames… well, it was also real. Everything else is fiction, but the flowers were real, an out of place wonder covering a mound of dirt in an otherwise prosaic field by the freeway.
Some images stay with you… their impact makes you want to find out the story behind them or at least create one such story. By the time I reached my destination, a rough outline of a nameless story had already taken shape in my mind. But I had recently finished Albatross and needed a bit of a writing break, so I knew it was a story for another time.
A shot would easily take that patch of flowers out of its natural context and create an entirely different reality for the unknowing observer in another context. It could suddenly be a dreamy field of wild flowers instead of some wild flowers on top of dirt by the freeway. Reality reframed or just one frame of a bigger, more complex reality? The answer is a personal subjective choice.
Coincidentally, I took some poppy shots the other day. What an unexpected find, I thought to myself, blooming poppies in the wind, with the beach, a calm sea and a blue sky on the background. Some of you also liked the one I already posted. All sorts of positive words come to mind when thinking of those shots, especially considering the recent lockdown months. But… but what you don’t see in any of those photos, what I carefully avoided to include in any of those frames is the large pile of rubbish only a few steps away from those beautiful flowers. Thinking back, perhaps I should have included it, but I was too taken by the angle excluding it.
My point is, we go about doing this in many, if not all, aspects of our lives. We like to think we see the full picture, we have the full truth, when in fact we only have instances, a few frames on which we choose or are forced to build our judgement, conclusions and decisions. Sometimes we get it right, even by mistake… other times we ignore the background, we find a way to exclude the ugliness from the picture in order not to have to deal with it.
The same happens to my characters. They’re neither picture-perfect, nor horrid, but they might appear to be either one or the other, depending on the moment one interacts with them. But once the angle becomes wider and the background less blurry, does their behaviour become understandable and acceptable? That, too, is a personal, subjective choice…
“Help yourself. You still smoke?”
Pointless question, stating the obvious, so it would fill the air between them… He tilted his head apologetically and smiled back, that embarrassed half a smile of his, when she’d catch him doing something she didn’t approve of and she’d point it out. He lit up and inhaled deeply, turning to ashes a good portion of the cigarette. He smoked when he was nervous, she remembered; and when he was upset, and when he was afraid… He smoked all the time, a lot, and the smell of smoke mixed with his aftershave used to cling to her hair. She’d come home from their dates and feel he was still there, in the room with her, when she brushed her hair before going to bed. Who was he now?
Frames by Ana Linden is now available on Amazon.
Don’t tell anyone about this, his father’s words ring in his ears as though he were sitting next to him. He then got out of the car and asked his youngest son to take his place behind the wheel. You’re the first one I’m teaching how to drive, remember this, but it has to be our secret for now. He was sixteen and his older brother, seventeen at the time, was soon going to be old enough to get his driver’s license… yet he and not his brother was the first one to be taught. His father’s words had a magical effect, suddenly erasing the morning’s tears and humiliation. For once he was ahead of his brother, for once he was the more important one… probably the only time in his life. He spent the rest of the day driving around the deserted industrial yard, improving his skills, absorbing every piece of information his father had to impart. You’ll be a great driver, son.
Frames by Ana Linden is now available on Amazon.
The two young men look each other in the eye for a quick moment. Worlds colliding, brought together by a common surge of arrogance – it becomes one of them, it makes the other look even more uncouth. One smells like expensive aftershave, drives a German luxury car and looks impeccable in his designer clothes, next to his model of a girlfriend. The other one reeks of manure after cleaning the stables, wears dingy clothes and shoes, and his hair is a mess of unwashed uncombed curls. They are only a few years apart… they are worlds apart… with no common ground other than this temporary, illusory dimension. How could they ever really see each other? Why should they?
“Defines you?…” His intonation delivers a question, but the words form a statement inside him, because in the mist of his past he used to know exactly what she means. He used to have exactly that, he lost exactly what she lost.
“Defines you… but not in the sense that you become who that person wants you to be or that you’re devoid of character without them. I mean, they’re that one person to whom you can reveal all your weaknesses, the deepest darkness residing in the most hidden corners of your being, together with all the beauty you’re capable of, and they won’t get scared, they won’t run away. Instead, they will embrace it and love you for all you are, not in spite of it. They define you, because you don’t have to hide anything that defines you. They encourage you to be exactly who you are, they accept it and they don’t step back even when it’s anything but easy for them to be there.” Continue reading “Frames – Choices (Sample Fragment 1)”
Here I am, once more… I mentioned working on a new book, as some of you might recall, but I didn’t dwell on it. Well, in spite of various changes and challenges, I can now relax and enjoy, because I managed to stick with the schedule and it’s finally ready!
In case you noticed that countdown on my site and wondered about it, that’s what it’s about. Frames, my new book, is already available for pre-orders on Amazon and it will be published on May 15th. That’s also when the printed version will become available (click on the image).
Maudlin as it may sound, before I go on and tell you what the book is all about, I’d like to thank you for your support and encouraging words over the years, ever since I’ve started this blog. As many of you know from your own writing experience, this sort of warm, inspiring and supportive blogging community means a lot to an indie author.
I know it’s customary to do a cover reveal first, to create all sorts of buzz about the book, building suspense before the big publishing day. All’s well and good in theory, but promoting the book – relevant as that may be – is the part of self-publishing I loathe. So there I go again, revealing everything at once.
I’ve put together four stories this time, not exactly short ones, but no novellas either. Hopefully the common denominators will become clear as you read them, but I’ll let you be the judge of that. All I can say is, once they took shape in my mind, I couldn’t separate these stories.
What does one do when life comes to a hopeless standstill and the desired fresh start is not what it seems? Four enthralling, emotional short stories capture diverse characters who are stuck, desperately searching either for a new beginning or for an end to their misery. Opportunity presents itself under the unexpected guise of theft, murder and suicide intertwined with love, friendship and generosity. In need of purpose, as well as affection and passion, they are torn between their conflicting desires and moral values, often finding solace and support in unexpected, shocking situations and people. Can an assassin love? Is one’s death someone else’s fortune? Should outcasts dare to dream of a better future and should the past be put behind? These are merely a few of the questions tormenting them, pushing them to honestly acknowledge and assess their needs and their existence.
I’ll stop here, in an attempt to keep it short and sweet. I’ll explain my choice of title and I’ll share excerpts from each story over the following days. Hopefully, you’ll find them enjoyable.
… the writing game, that is.
I know, I know, ‘tis the season, but I’m not the New Year’s resolutions kind of person, so this endeavour doesn’t fall under that category. As it happens, this January is simply a good time to start focusing on my writing again.
I’ve made plans for it in 2019. I’ve written an outline. I even have a title and a book cover in mind. I’ve already started to work on the project and paused over the holidays. But come January, I would start writing again, I told myself. I set a deadline for myself and I estimated how much and how often I could write, barring unexpected circumstances. Well, we all know we can always count on the unexpected to take place; and I don’t want to force myself into writing more than I feel I can handle or to dedicate all my spare time to it; but it’s good to have a plan, that works for me.
Releasing a new book is always an exciting event, especially for the author. Well, it is such a day for me… After the initial moment of panic, also known as the “Oh no – it’s out there, for anyone to read” instant, I remember how important breathing actually is and I move on to a sort of “proud momma” sensation. Yes, I am happy this is happening and I’m happy it’s happening now, it feels right.
Dear friends, thank you for your support and all your encouraging words regarding my writing. So many of you shared inspiring stories about your experience in this field and although I am not usually very verbal (yes, I often lurk in the shadows) they haven’t gone unnoticed or unappreciated. I think we all know how such stories sometimes speak to us, especially in those moments when we consider giving up on our writing, or at least on sharing it with the world. Truth be told, I was rather reluctant about sharing my Albatross stories at first, as I tend to be about sharing most of my writing these days. Continue reading “Albatross – The Big Day”
I always loved the beginning of summer. For so many reasons – some deep, others more superficial – June has always been a special time of year for me…
It’s that time of year which makes me feel everything is possible. Years keep passing, yet this sensation is a powerful constant every early summer. Together with my love for fresh cherries and strawberries and that unbelievable fragrance of blooming linden trees, it’s something I hope to always love, a part of me I hope will never change. It has always been a promise of new experiences, unexpected options and lots of fun. With that come the itch to run away and travel, the desire to try something different, and the somewhat self-destructive wish to rock the boat. Continue reading “The Magic of June”
There are no villains and no heroes, only people caught in a pivotal moment of their existence. Nothing is absolute, no one is only good or entirely evil. One’s life course can be deviated in an instant, and choices are often made instinctively, unconsciously, not only rationally, under socially acceptable terms. Imperfect, damaged characters struggle with their duality and evolution. Their reactions are the product of violence, physical and emotional abuse, neurosis, depression, but also of love, hope and melancholy. Fear is what they all have in common. Continue reading “Albatross”
Idea notebooks, random scribbling on post-its, notes on your phone, various drafts on your computer… if you’re anything like me – that is, if you enjoy writing – then you’ve probably accumulated all of them. I’m not as bad as it sounds, really…. It’s a neat mess I’m talking about here, I know where everything goes. I also know which nonsensical drafts/ideas might stand a chance to become something more, so I keep them… sometimes for years. Continue reading “Some Stories Have to Be Told”
The final day of the challenge is here and the quote I selected is from Neihtn’s Village Teacher. Neihtn is the pen name of a Vietnamese-American writer, Nguyễn Trọng Hiền.
“The footprints never overlapped or touched one another, but there was no doubt that they were walking close together and going forward in the same general direction. They turned around once more and resumed their walk.”
Neihtn, Village Teacher
Today’s special nominee is Sue from WordsVisual – if and whenever you feel like sharing a few quotes with us, Sue. Anyone else who wants to participate is also welcome.
In the end, I would like to share a bonus quote – a well-known one, this time.
“Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster… for when you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.”
Don’t blush, Yvette. Today is your day!
“There’s a different kind of beauty that can be extracted from brokenness. It’s a delicate, vulnerable life phase, but moving through brokenness can wake us up and clear away the dross. Often, it allows us to later appreciate and soak up beauty in a way we might otherwise miss.”
Yvette Prior, Lady by the River
Today’s special nominee is India Blue from A Place for Creative Expression – if and whenever you feel like sharing a few quotes with us, I know you’re going through a difficult time. Anyone else who wants to participate is also welcome.
A while back, Yvette from priorhouse blog invited me to take part in the three day quote challenge. The time has come for me to honour her generous invitation. As it turns out, the rules are simple and not at all restrictive. There is no time limit, all one needs to do is post three quotes on three (preferably) consecutive days and nominate other fellow bloggers who might enjoy this challenge.
I would like to invite all of you to take part in this challenge, if you feel so inclined. I will also nominate somebody every day, but please don’t feel pressured to participate – I am aware these things can be time consuming.
My mind instantly went to some of my favourite quotes, from authors and books that have influenced me over the years. As I pondered which three should make the cut, I realized I actually wanted to go another way. Since I started blogging, I had the chance to come across so many interesting, inspiring, talented, yet relatively unknown authors, so I would like to share some fragments from their work.
“I watched the sun sink between two bamboo poles and knew that I didn’t want to die before writing what I needed to write . Suddenly I felt that through my writing, I would fulfil my life’s purpose. Whatever it was, I would discover it in the creation of my books , and it is this delight at wanting to discover my purpose that keeps me writing. A perfect catch – 22.”
Today’s quote is from Carol Balawyder’s Mourning Has Broken. I have enjoyed all of her books, yet so far this is my favourite. But I still have her most recent book on my “to read” list, so who knows…
Today’s special nominee is Theresa Baker from Lab Notes – if and whenever you feel like sharing a few quotes with us, Theresa. Anyone else who wants to participate is also welcome.
The computer is resting casually on my knees – ubiquitous part of a calm, quiet afternoon at home; but once in a while my glance wonders off to the old typewriter… Oddly enough, the object belonging to such different times doesn’t make for a strange anachronism.
I wanted to take it apart as a child, even before I could read, that’s the first memory I have of the typewriter which had to be stored out of my reach, on the top shelf or in a hidden corner. Even if the characters it produced made no sense to me at that time, once I understood what it was used for, I immediately concluded it held the mystery of all the books I pestered my grandmother to read to me. She was the keeper of that great skill that allowed her to magically transform the gibberish on the page into words, into mesmerizing stories, but she didn’t feel like sharing this gift with me as much as I would have liked her to. So it only made sense that once I solved the puzzle of the typewriter – by taking it apart, of course – everything else would fall into place and I would learn all the secretes of those books my grandmother refused to read.
What can I say, the oddest of things can make sense to a child… My grandfather was the one to put an end to my destructive impulses, showing me that the typewriter is the source of new mysteries and in no way the solution to understanding the already existing ones, enclosed between book covers. Once in a while he’d write lectures, speeches or even some fairy-tales he had made up for me and those were the moments when I sat on his knees, while he typed and uttered the words out loud, so I’d know what the mystery maker was compiling. My grandmother rolled her eyes disapprovingly at what she considered to be a boring, useless activity, but I was fascinated by the eloquent discourse and the clicking of the keys.
It was a time auspicious for fast, radical changes and much like the typewriter, my grandfather became obsolete, lost and irrelevant after his retirement, losing his identity in the blink of an eye. The old and noisy typewriter would make itself heard occasionally, as it was trotted out for him to relive the glory of long forgotten days. But much like him, the mystery maker had lost its power and nobody would ever listen to the somewhat nonsensical words filling the pages that my grandmother would immediately deposit in the bin, muttering about wasted time and noisy typing devices.
But the old man would never accept that his trusty companion was no longer of use to anybody, having become the laughingstock of the contemporary world. He was dead set on reaffirming the relevance of the old device which had survived decades of changes, happiness and misery. So it became a habit for him to type invitations to all sorts of family events, invitations which my grandmother would surreptitiously throw out, telling him she had mailed them. It worked out fine, until one day when he decided to mail the invitations himself, thus offending his wife’s sensibilities. The infamous typewriter was immediately stored away in some obscure corner of the house – much like when I was child – and he was told it had suffered a bad fall and was no longer functional. The old man muttered for days. Much like everything else that accompanied him along his sinuous path to success, defining who he had once been, the typewriter had been suddenly taken away from him, without any possibility to be redeemed, because he no longer had the energy to fight for it.
I wasn’t quite sure why, but when I left for university I felt that the old typewriter had to go with me. Several years passed before it saw the light of day again, I had actually forgotten I had it. But it was such a pleasant surprise to eventually rediscover this childhood relic! From that moment on, it could finally live its retirement days in peace, in its own corner amongst old books and photo albums, receiving the appreciation and respect it always deserved.
“It gathers dust, but it looks very cute,” my mother very pragmatically noticed when she saw it. That may be the case, but the retired typewriter is so much more! It lives as a constant reminder that there still are instances when dreams come true and some persons can shape and control their destiny, reaching the peaks of success and achieving the goals they set for themselves. Yet life has a perverted sense of balance – or perhaps a sense of humour – pushing the same persons into the abyss without any warning. And there are cases when no amount of caution can save them. All we can do is enjoy our personal moments of glory and do our best to type a happier sequel to our sad stories of despair.
I may be able to come up with quite a variety of words to describe myself, but ‘optimist’ is not amongst them. I’m a realist. And as a realist, I cannot help having my moments of stifling pessimism, just as I also cannot help having hopes and dreams from time to time. As for that one person of the two who know me in real life and have also been told about this blog – no, I don’t suffer from multiple personality disorder either… Or if I do, the one typing right now certainly has no idea about it. But we’ll go back to that later.
If you believe yourself to be a realist, then most likely you have often been accused of negative thinking and you’ve been labelled a pessimist more times than you can remember. I won’t deny it, I do believe that if anything can go wrong, then most likely it will; but if I were a pessimist, I would say, “then it will”. Of course, I can’t help noticing that if my perfectly functional computer decides to throw a tantrum and crash or if there’s a power cut or if my internet provider suddenly experiences various difficulties, it will always happen just before I manage to click ‘Save’ or ‘Send’ as I’m struggling to meet that impending deadline. So I’ve learnt to accept that technology is not infallible and it bears one striking resemblance to many people: it will let you down just when you need it the most. Of course, if your car is going to get a flat tire while simply being parked in front of your home over night, there’s a very good chance it’ll happen when you’re in a hurry the following day… and the weather will probably be awful, nobody will be there to help you change the damn thing or to give you a ride. But the control freak that I am doesn’t give up, she simply learns her lesson. I save documents and back up my work more often than I like to admit to; I try to leave early enough so I manage not to be too late in case of unexpected impediments. And for this sort of things I get called paranoid, pessimist or negativist!
I have been accused – on more than one occasion – that I see the worst in people. I really don’t – I only notice stereotypical behaviour, I remember past situations involving said individuals and I tend to be quite a good judge of character. I apply the same thought process when it comes to positive aspects, but that generally gets overlooked and dismissed, on the premises that I couldn’t possibly ‘predict’ something good about a person, given my negative tendencies… Overlooked tend to also be all those situations when my ‘negativism’ has led me to accurately ‘predict’ unpleasant outcomes regarding certain endeavours or people… that is, if I’m lucky and I don’t get blamed for the entire course of events – clearly, my opening my big mouth to state the obvious was what caused it all. But, like I said, I tend to learn my lessons and to keep my opinions to myself once in a while – which doesn’t come easy to me – or just be aware I’d have to live with a wide array of unpleasant consequences when I decide to express my thoughts in a less diplomatic fashion.
Yet being a realist who’s seen a fair share of awkwardly unlucky coincidences and being ambitious, stubborn, opinionated and impatient are features that can clash in unpleasant, disappointing, even depressing ways. Overcoming failure becomes difficult. Picking yourself up and trying again and again and again simply because you cannot accept a certain turn of events might start to seem pointless. After all, the realist in you knows what the chances to succeed are. After all, insanity is often defined as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results (thank you, Einstein, for throwing so many of us in that delightful category). And yet… the stubborn, ambitious person in me cannot settle for less than she thinks she deserves, so she’ll not be able to give up, no matter how depressing that might be. Meanwhile, the impatient one cannot take that drama anymore – she wants what she wants and she wants it now. (Wait, maybe I do have multiple personalities after all… Hmm…) Anyway, the realist that I am needs to rise above and find a way to survive, so I could survive without going insane in more ways than the one described by Mr Einstein (or whoever else people chose to credit for that particular definition).
You reach a point when no matter how fast you think and speak, no matter how ambitious you are, no matter how disappointed you’ve become, no matter how cynical you’ve always been, you need to stop and take a good look at your life for what it actually is, not for what you want it to be. You need to do that not for some metaphysical, impersonal, altruistic, holier-than-thou reason, but only so you wouldn’t sink. We all find our own ways of coping with it, our own solutions. Personally, after several years of taking a break from it, I started writing again, for myself and to myself, the same way I had done for a long time – before any of you say anything, I am well aware this doesn’t bode well for my claim to sanity. But I find it gives me a new perspective, it allows me to see everything in a slightly more objective (dare I say realistic?) light. Later I started this blog and by that time I had reached a sort of balance; this led to that amusing little comment about my personalities – I know it must seem so unlike the blunt, cynical me in real life.
No, I wasn’t trying to pretend to be a different person, a better, nicer or kinder one. I am who I am and I make no apologies for it. I am a realist who is doing her best to see the positive side of her own existence. I try to enjoy what I do have, the beautiful moments, the wonderful people, the special times and the nice things in my life, aside from everything else that drives me crazy, while also driving me to want more for myself. But in order to do that, I need to constantly remind myself it needs to be done – forced positivity is a realist’s self-prescribed medicine – because I am not, nor will I ever be an optimist floating on pick, inspirational clouds surrounded by cuddly unicorns. I find my own kind of satisfaction to keep me going. Sometimes it’s in the books I read, the words I write, the flowers I receive, the moments by the sea, the colours of the sunset, the travelling to various places… and sometimes it’s in that selfish, obnoxious pleasure of knowing I was right and others were wrong in reading a person or a situation… and other times it’s simply in enjoying a pair of obscenely beautiful and expensive shoes I know I probably shouldn’t have bought.
“The truth seems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segment of the writer’s own nature, and complete his circle of existence by bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak impersonally. But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil.”
Nathaniel Hawthorne – The Scarlet Letter
Take a few minutes and read a poem today… feel the words and let emotions take over you… Remember how the written word enriches our lives, it’s World Poetry Day after all! 🙂