The cobwebs around the bathroom window have gathered dust; even the spider has seen it best to vacate the area as the dust weighs down on the threads breaking it slowly over time.
The little pile of dead beetles, moths and silverfish line the windowsill with little black dots of spider shit.
I suppose I had better clean this place up? Thought Gladys for the umpteenth time that year; she held the basin, trying to stand independently but faltering as her shoulders gave way to pain.
Maybe some other time when my arthritis isn’t giving me gyp? She thought to herself, as she resigned back to her wingback chair in the lounge to watch more dramatic daytime television – who’d have thought my life would be like this? Thought the former gym instructor; who’d have thought?
I fell into the pit of lies
I was too naïve to see through your clever guise
Though I trusted you then, before my major fall, I know what you really want from me
The person you think a fool
But now I’m wise to your vicious game and I shan’t treat you quite the same
Because I will not fall again, and really you know why
Verily that’s why I sigh, at your vain attempts to lead me on again, your attempts have been nine or ten and then you finally give up and leave and I cry
But I often wonder why?
I am released from your endless lies, the relief is abundant, but I –
struggle to realise now you’re gone even though you did me wrong, the hate for you dies
And I often wonder why?
I dream of the day that I am forgotten
Many people vex me so
Most people treat me though I am rotten
But people deny the truth did you know?
I am troubled by unsettled lives
Not my own but theirs
They watch my every move, each second
Warning me to beware
If I speak a word of truth, that’s it
Everyone comes knocking on my door
But they deny I tell the truth, claim I lie some more
Whilst they are around I can’t have a proper life
Their supporters don’t know they cause me strife
But no matter how far away I go
There’s always someone treading on my toes
From distant places, deep in my past
Their abuse isn’t local, but it still lasts
Indirectly it may be so
But they have other people you know?
So that is why I dream today
Of a time where I am mislaid
Why can’t people forget me now?
I’ve been gone for years, yet they still scowl
How sad their little lives must be
If all they can do, is still think of me
I have read somewhere in the past, that you are what you read and I believe that. The more I read the more defined my tastes have become, my skills, my genre leanings and this influences my writing and art.
With each good book I learn how I want to write and what I want to write about.
With each bad book I read, I learn how I do not want to write and what I dislike.
I do not believe that as a writer you must write things outside of your comfort zone, I believe you should be comfortable with what you are writing – although on an emotional matter, that’s quite different. You must write outside of your emotional comfort zone if you wish to write fear, pain and heartbreak effectively, unfortunately that means opening up your old wounds.
A lot of the time, I like to write about horror, trauma etc. and each time I do, I open up real and old wounds, this is why I often become quiet as a writer and have prolonged periods of not writing, whilst I emotionally recuperate.
I was once told that writers and artists generally go mad after a time and I believe it, we send ourselves mad for our art and stories because we are constantly reliving the horrors of our past for your entertainment and as a collective, we seldom are known or recognized for it.
I am not moaning about my lack of recognition as a writer and artist, because personally I think that’s my own fault. I think I am generally a lazy person and have not bothered to find myself a publisher or to advertise my work very much over the years at all. On the one occasion I did contact a publisher to see whether or not they liked an idea of mine, I was lucky enough to get a letter back within three weeks, but this terrified me, because they loved what I sent them and praised me highly for it; I never contacted them again, I was worried about becoming famous and at the time I was young and didn’t know about pseudonyms.
These days I am more prepared for whatever life throws at me because I will be totally blatant about what I can and cannot do and what I will and will not allow.
Other than twitter, my blog and magazines are there any other steps I should take to get myself known?
Please comment below.
Damaged, my mind is
Remembering times of violence, a lot
Angry at my past for damaging my future – not
Suicidal and wishing I had another life? Not anymore
Trichotillomania making your hair pull – sure
Irritated by yourself? No I’m secure
Changed by your past? Aren’t we all?