Yesterday, I was 30

I’m going to be cliche and write 30 things I have learned in the last 30 years, in light of turning 30 yesterday.

  1. Your love language is extremely important to understand.
  2. Nothing in life ever goes the way you planned.
  3. The most important role in your life is simply to be You.
  4. When your world shatters, don’t make dumb decisions.
  5. The people who are supposed to love you the most, have the strongest ability to tear you apart.
  6. Trust is fleeting.
  7. Fulfillment doesn’t exist in mortal things.
  8. If you know with the core of your being you shouldn’t do something, don’t do it.
  9. Pleasing people gets you nowhere.
  10. You’re going to miss the most important things in life if you rush through and don’t stop to listen and consider the “why shouldn’t I do this?”
  11. You cannot rely on someone else to be what you need. They will fail you when you need them most.
  12. If friends are distant, just let them go. No matter how much it hurts.
  13. If you matter to someone, they will keep you in their life.
  14. Children are the most delightful joy you will ever possess in this Life.
  15. If someone is relying on you, always make sure to accomplish what they need in a reliable amount of time.
  16. It’s better to lie to everyone that you’re okay, than tell them when it’s not.
  17. Life is continually disappointing, and there’s no turning back from a mistake.
  18. Everyone has an opinion. Seek the Truth, that is what matters most.
  19. God will never leave you, or forsake you.
  20. Jesus Christ is literally the only entity you can count on.
  21. If you know it is a bad idea DON’T DO IT.
  22. Staying stuck on the things that make you unhappy, makes you unhappier.
  23. There is so much peace in silence.
  24. Making friends past 25 is hard.
  25. Isolating yourself, while it does protect you, only makes you lonely.
  26. Sometimes, you go through things in life, and literally have NOBODY you can actually talk to about it.
  27. The loneliest place you can be, is in a crowded room where no one knows you.
  28. The second loneliest place you can be, is in a crowded room where everyone knows you, but you cannot connect with those people, no matter how hard you’ve tried.
  29. Having friends with things in common is worth Gold.
  30. Don’t be afraid to take chances.

Dismal list, the inside of me isn’t exactly the happy, bubbly Sprite I try to be.
Because of my own loneliness, I try so desperately to light the world around me, so others know someone loves them, someone thinks they’re important, and someone doesn’t want them to know the same emptiness I feel.
You can always rely on me to be there for you. No matter the time of day.

Shine brighter than the stars. Even when it kills you inside.

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Creative Energy

I have so much creative energy swirling in my head, and not the slightest idea how to let it out.  I pick up my sketch book, and it doesn’t help.
I open up a WIP document, and that’s not where it wants to flow either.

I open up my blog, and spend the next twenty minutes organizing blog posts so my flash fiction, Faet & Fantasy reads in order.  The first two episodes weren’t in the line up so I had to go fishing for them.  Now, they are ALL only categorized under ONE category.

After that, I had to take my son to martial arts, but my mind is a bursting flood of energy refusing to calm.

Perhaps it has to do with recent ignition, though I don’t know where the inspiration came from, however it has not stopped.  Meanwhile, I have little to show for it, though I direly wish to ride the wave where it will carry me!

Especially if it means I finish my first write so I can start editing it….  Though, this is a way off to finish, if I keep the energy up, perhaps the book can be done by the end of this year?

Many people are waiting on me to finish something, I don’t particularly know why I haven’t.  Maybe this Christmas I’ll sneak a peak into Eldegras for everyone with my Yule story finished.  Publish to Wattpad, get a few more short stories out there as teasers, and viola, the series comes along?

It sounds like a good idea in theory.  The execution is where I have trouble….

Today I miss having a piano.  I miss writing songs and poems.  Why have I stopped?  What possessed me to close up and hide within myself?

It surely hasn’t been a good thing, and only left me feeling directionless and without purpose…..

Here’s to purpose and raising more blog posts and stories again.  Once a writer, always a writer.  And I have most definitely always been a writer.

Farlaquin

Haunted by his memories, and the alluring draw of AFI, I pull out an old book I wrote.

I open the pages immediately engulfed in the evanescent driftings of memories long forgotten….

It needs a hefty edit and dusting off, but the story is certainly worth saving.

In the revamp of my High Fantasy series, this character was going to be cut.

However, his tragic romance and undying love for a main character may yet see light of day.

As I painfully read this old story, written in a past I often wish to forget, his presence haunts me like a ghost.

Piercing dark emerald eyes, flowing nutmeg brown hair, and a smooth comforting voice overwhelm me.

I tune into another AFI song to keep him alive in my mind, wondering whatever happened to the affair my soul had with this character.

When I wanted to escape reality and pour my soul out, Farlaquin was there.

When I longed to dance in a world I couldn’t possibly physically touch, I drowned in my imagination and spent endless hours in a place once called Elverqueist.

Tonight, seduced by the memories and need to clench my thirsty soul, I look back and see him again….

And for the first time, I miss him.

He reaches a hand to me, his eyes gentle. His whisper sends tingles through my mind, as again I am seduced by worlds so far away….. that I desperately wish to reach.

His brow dropping to mine, calling me, a new scene introducing him in the new book rewrite comes to mind.

And for the first time, I am sure that his story needs told.

Every Day

Every day I come to my wordpress blog, and every day I fail to write.

It’s not that I don’t have words!  I have so many words.
Perhaps it’s that I lost the art of using them?

Writers keep writing what they write, a song about the dark says so.

Why do I stop?  Why have I been incapable of producing the words I so eagerly long to share?

I wish I understood them.

I wish I could make them flow in the ways they used to.

Somewhere along the way, I locked them up where no one could see.  Instead of validation I found emptiness in a greedy world where everyone wants to be heard.

So I silenced my voice.

And then I found those who would oppose me, and force their concepts down my throat without hearing what I would have to say, and I stopped speaking.

The Value we take from one another when we deem ourselves as more important!

The Value we take from one another when we choose to not listen to their heart, and take it for the treasure that it is.

Instead we fume, we rage!  We foam at the mouth, because our school of thought cannot comprehend that of the other.

One of us is free, and gives ourselves away whole-heartedly, and the other is limited by a box that they do not understand controls them, and instead of being honest and true they snuff out the light.

Why do we destroy each other?

Why must the light one sheds be darkened by another?

If someone is shining brightly for all the word to see, is this not enough for Humanity?
Correct them in love.  Not judgement.

Correct them in hope.  Not rage.

Sacrifice your own abysmal failure to love with reckless abandon, instead of screaming at them with your actions to change for the sake of your intolerance.

There is a Truth.  And this Truth is solid and just.  Don’t silence the voices who share the truth because it doesn’t agree with your school of thought.

Watch them, brave and bold, and know they are sharing from the depths of their hearts and soul, to connect all of humanity with a greater good.

 

…..Every day I wait, longingly for the words to return.  They trickle slowly in.
But why do I abandon them?

One In A Billion

Look at us.

We’re all trying to stand out and be noticed.

You, with your talents.  Me with mine.

Each of us on a journey to be heard.  Listened to.  To burn brightly after igniting a spark of interest.

We’re all striking the same matches:
I HAVE WORDS I NEED TO SHARE!

Waiting to be validated by a consuming public, who cannot quench their thirst against the raging flames of entertainment.

So we pound away at the keys, telling the stories our vivid imaginations create for us, and we write the articles our fierce opinions derive, and we share the inspiration our souls have encountered.

And then we wait to be noticed by the general public.

Days.  Weeks.  Months.  Years.

Others who have gone before us and somehow managed to be a hit, surely we can too?

Slowly, our motivation turns to ash.  The embers of longing to share, die.

We wonder why we put so much heart and soul into our work, for it to fall by the wayside.

So few acknowledge our existence, even after the hours we put into our work.  We wonder how people go viral, and what on earth they’re doing different than us.
Do they have different friends?
Do they have different connections?
Do they have different methods for gaining access to the millions of people we wish were our audience, too?

…..The answer is, we’re not all pursuing the same audience.

While each of us wish to be accepted for who we are, and what we bring to the literary world, we’re still different.

We have different pursuits.

We have different goals.

We have different messages we want to send.

We tell different stories.
Somewhere along the way, writers begin to join in a uniformity, the answer must be in writing the same way?
“You must write this way/you must write that way.”
“I don’t like to do this, you probably shouldn’t either.”
“Nobody writes like that anymore.”
“I wouldn’t read it, but I guess someone else might….”

Validating ourselves against others, instead of remaining true to ourselves.

The odds feel stacked against us when our words only reach a few people sprinkled throughout the world.

Don’t stop trying, despite the odds.

Yes.  You are one in a billion.

You don’t need a million followers, you simply need to be true to yourself.

Tell your story.  And then believe your story is worth being read, and pursue the audience you long for.

Blank Page

Hello white screen.

I’m here to stare at you again.

I have hopes that your magic powers of illumination will draw the Words from my brain.

Pulling them from the core of me, as my eyes stare beyond you into Universes still unknown to the world.

Yet you sit there.  Empty.

You are the one with greater power, scaring my ideas away.

Intimidating me, with your flashy white teeth, the ink wont bleed and discolor your face.

Perhaps we need to chat about my pursuits.

You see, I am trying to write a story.

As you flash the cursor line at me, blinking anxiously as my fingers wait to patter away at the keys…..

This is nonsense.  I should be greater than you!  I can slay you with that tiny little X at the top corner!  I can will you to go away!

……however, this causes me more problems than it does you.  You will smile one last time with a wicked laugh as you flash away victorious.

How do we meld our minds so that we might summon the words peacefully?  Drawing from my inner pool of creation as one might a fountain?

Blank page, I think of you all the day long.  I think of the words I might put to you.  The stories I anxiously wish to tell…..

And yet you remain.  Here.  Untouched.

Intimacy we should share!  My heart would overflow to you in a precarious romance, in which I slaughter my soul at the eyes of the world.

Summon from me words.  I beg you.

Draw each of them out.  Rend my soul if you must.  Just let them flow.

Blank Pages

Glaring white stares blankly at me.

The pages beg to be filled, and yet the words don’t come.

Nothing comes.

A jumble, a mess.  A train crash of thoughts scattered about.

To have sanity.  A semblance of direction, even just a moment when everything might be still.

Transitioning, they call it.  Becoming something new.  Entering something new.  Stepping out in the world alone.

But not so alone.  Compassion guides with a steady hand, and two young ones depend entirely on me.

And still the page stares blank.  The pen wont move.  The words don’t form.

How is one to write fiction, when surrealism has taken over?  It all feels as fiction might.  Pushing against the fourth wall, trying to break free of the confines one has fallen into.

When will security come so Creativity might flow?  When does anything make sense again?

And still the page stares.  Empty.