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.

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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.

Faet and Fantasy : Kiena

Kiena circled the glen slowly, wrapped in thought.  Her eyes mindlessly scanning the flowers she buzzed past, her hair gently whisked at her face.  She held an arm behind her back, keeping her toes pointed to the ground while in flight. Instead of watching where she was going the fae started when fur collided with her face.

Grinby, her dearest fox friend barked in surprise.

“Oh, I apologize Grinby.”  Kiena spit fur from her mouth, pulling a strand of decent length from her tongue.

“You’ve been quite distracted lately, Kiena,” Grinby chuckled.

“I don’t mean to be.”  Her eyes stayed focused beyond the ground, her expression still blank.  “I’ve lost all sense of direction since they left.”

They being Rynn and Acacia.

Grinby offered a smile meant to comfort, though foxes rarely can look empathetic beyond their natural pointed scowl.  “I know my dear.  We all hate to see you like this.  Is there anything I can do?”

Kiena shook her head, her black curly tresses bouncing untamed with the motion.  Her empty eyes seemed to glisten as she quickly wiped her nose and looked away, “It wouldn’t help anyway, I’m fine.”  She sniffed once, smiling to Grinby without cheer.

Grinby nodded slowly, “Well, I was off to the cubs to bring in dinner.  If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

“Thank you,” Kiena said trying to appear sincere, though she knew it wasn’t working.

The fox left, and the faerie decided it best to try to head home.  Twilight began setting in, early though it was as winter approached.  A chilly wind gusted suddenly.  Kiena braced herself against it, welcoming the cold.  Soon she could shiver and others wouldn’t ask if she were alright.

And why did they ask anyway?  What could anyone do about it?

There was more silver lining to be thankful for, she reminded herself.  The winter fae would be migrating again, and no doubt they would take attention off of her for a few months so Kiena could finally mend her sullen mood.

Lit mushroom lanterns dotted the tiny village as she made it back to Raven Dell.  Some of the fae were out dancing at a festival of sorts near the top of the rocky face.  Perhaps it was a birthday for a youngling?

The image brought back the memory of Rynn and Acacia’s wedding.  It had been a lovely event.  Acacia had been a vision of a bride.  Her blonde hair shining like gold to offset her burgundy dress.  Rynn had not taken his eyes off her the entire night.  He was enchanted with the fae.

Tears blurred Kiena’s vision again and she quickly ducked inside her tiny home.

Her main room looked out into a cleft of the dell where she could watch passersby.  Tonight, she did not light the candle on her table, she simply went into her room and stretched out on the bed going instantly to sleep.

Free Falling

The Fear shakes me to my core

I’m falling without support

I have come undone

It’s too late to tell

How far I already fell

I cry out in desperate needing

Can anyone stop this bleeding

Alone I watch my whole world fade

Grounding wires help me find the way

On them I tripped

Carelessly I slipped

Nothing makes sense anymore

I must be Braver than before

Closing my eyes to block out the sound

Suddenly I can feel the ground

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.

Beautiful Potential

Precious little girl, you are more than this.

The darkness that consumes you, and breathes into your life has no power to remain there.

Sweetest little child, you are not judged by the darkness that you surround yourself in.  You’re free to let it go.

I know it protects you.  It keeps your sins from coming to light.

But do you know what else it does?  It tears you away from your potential.  It keeps you from accomplishing the things you were meant to.

You are so gifted, your heart is beautiful.  The words pouring out of your soul are worth reading, and worth being put on the shelves.  Your words were meant to be read, they were meant to be enjoyed.  

You have friends to join you in this Quest.

You have friends invested in your success.

You have support that loves you, they delight in you.

You have hope because they wont leave you until the Journey is done.

It’s beautiful, embrace it.

Your mind, your heart, your desires, your passions.  You are Beautiful and worthy of so much more.

Let go of the Darkness.  Let go of the Bondage and embrace your potential.

It is worth it.

Perspective: A Writing Prompt Response

A womans viewpoint:

Sheniah spun once round, falling backwards over the arm of the couch.

Her heart was content.  Warm.  Filled blissfully with hope.

Allowing herself to remain in the moments of elation, she rested her arm on her brow, watching the ceiling fan spin round and round.  The clack clack of the motor and dancing of the pull cords drawing her imagination to replay her date over and over.

His broad smile drew his eyes into crescents as he laughed gaily at the joke she shared.

“Asks the magician what he did with the boat.”  Mitch recapped the punchline, “that’s too funny.”

Sheniah rubbed her arm, feeling the familiar tingle of too much sun warming her skin.  “We should start back.”

“Sure.  Do you know what else you’d like to do?”  Mitch asked, slipping his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts.

She bit her lip, “I don’t know, I probably should head home.”  Not that she had anything to do at home, but she hated making decisions that might cause someone else to change previous plans.  In this way, she thought perhaps she was being considerate of Mitch.

“Are you sure?  We could go bowling, see a movie, rent a canoe…”

“Those sound like a great deal of fun, but neither of us are dressed to canoe, neither of us have socks, and I can’t think of anything I want to see.”

“A woman as eager as yourself to shoot down three marvelous ideas with such reasonable excuses, must have plans for the evening to be leaving a man, such as myself, utterly bored with naught but video games to entertain myself.”  He used hand motions as he spoke.

Sheniah smiled watching him.  She was in love with everything about him.  One day, hopefully he’d be just as in love with her.  Maybe.  They truly seemed made for each other.

Clearly having chosen to go home was the wrong decision. Laundry and a stack of bills greeted her as she entered her home from the garage.

Sheniah began lightly bouncing her foot in rhythm to the fan, “You silly woman.  Bowling or something.” she chided, eying the basket of laundry on her kitchen table.

And now she would be bored and lonely the rest of the afternoon.  At least her imagination could coax out things to pass the time before she went to work that night.

Sheniah smiled, happy to know he might be thinking of her too.
—————-
A mans viewpoint


Mitch loved the way she smiled.  Her smile made his heart skip.  Sheniah was funny, intelligent, sharp witted.  And her figure was pretty great too.  Nicely rounded hips, perfect for carrying children one day.  Almond shaped eyes that widened when she was paying absolute attention.  That one lock of brown hair that always fell forward, no matter how many times she gently brushed it behind her ear.

Whenever she was with him, he loved to hold her hand.  It was soft and delicate in his grasp.

She was gentle, with a full heart and extensive mind.  He loved how she was passionate when she spoke about things that excited her.

Mitch admitted he was disappointed she couldn’t spend the rest of the afternoon with her.  Nevertheless, he had a campaign to run, and his gaming buddies would be starting their mission in less than an hour.  Perhaps they’d get to go bowling or canoeing another time.

Grabbing a snack, Mitch turned on the gaming consol and relaxed his hands around the controller, making sure his headset was plugged in and ready to go.