A note to the unrequited

I’m back. And the first order of business as I return to the blog-o-sphere, I want to show you what I have been working on. Its another project I have been planning and working on for months. May put it as my work in progress. I call this piece,

 

A note to the unrequited:

Rather remain silent than truthful. Rather keep up appearances than disrupt the flow. Rather remain friends, than attempt the unthinkable.

I love you. But I don’t want to.

A word to the unrequited: Silence is golden. Trust me…

 

This is the beginning of a prose piece that I have yet to summarize. In the point of view of an unrequited, the world seems unforgiving. To watch someone you love in the arms of another. I wanted to follow that train of thought. In my novel, I have a character that falls into that category. In my opinion, to be in love with someone who doesn’t know or doesn’t love you back, is the most heart-breaking emotion someone feels. But I also believe those people are the strongest. To be in love but never say it out loud. Its a tragedy that anyone can face. I just wanted to show you a piece of what I am currently working on.

I have just finished my college semester. Ill be doing my thesis during the summer, but for now, Ill be blogging more. I’m looking forward to start regular posting again. Its good to be back. Hope you enjoyed this post. Ill see you in the next post

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

Emotional Block

Strange! For once, my writing isn’t helping me. Let me explain. Recently, I have been having a lot personal problems lately. And I could always turn to my pen and paper and that writing will let it go away. That my feelings will escape from my heart and onto a piece of paper. The burden is gone. I have let my feelings out. I don’t have to keep it bottled up. But not this time. Recently, I was feeling down and I ended writing my first prose in months. After writing, I didn’t down anymore. I actually felt nothing! Just a numbness. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and watch a movie with hot chocolate. This has never happened to me before. I could always rely on my writing to get me out of a funk. I guess this time I am having more of an emotional block, than writers block. I rely a lot on my emotions for my writing. I guess I am feeling too much to even process what I am writing! Honestly, I don’t know. I just found it strange.

Anyway, hope ye are having a great weekend. Sorry, I haven’t been updating recently but ill try and get another post up soon enough. Until then, have a great week.

Turn It Off

I watch people pass me by and I wonder what their life is like. For example, does that guy have a loving wife and does she treat him right or why does that teenager look so worried? What does she have to worry about? She is still so young. I watch people enjoying their lives with smiles on their faces and having no signs of regrets across their eyes. They have the simpler life.

Whereas, I walk around with a weight hanging on my shoulders and heart. Something is eating away at me, a voice. No, not just one voice, several voices. I don’t recognise them. They haunt my thoughts and dreams with statements such as “you’re worthless,” “you’ll never make it” and “no one knows you exist.” Sometimes, these voices take the shape of loved ones I have lost such as my Aunt Anne.

They escape my mind and manifest into real apparitions. I saw my Aunt Anne today. She sat next to me while I was having my lunch. She was so thin that her bones protruded through her skin and her hair fell off into her fidgety hands, leaving bald spots on her head (Cancer is a slow and painful death). She looked at me and said gurgling through blood that was flowing from her mouth “You’re nothing.”

My mother feared these afflictions. She wanted to get help for me. She brought me to a psychiatrist and she got me taking prescription drugs. They make me dizzy and emotionally drained but they don’t stop the wars in my mind. I was called every nasty thing you could think of such as “Crazy”, “the freak”. My particular favourite was the “modern-day Norman Bates.” I didn’t concern myself with the nastiness of young people. I had my own problems. I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t turn off the horrid voices in my head. The meds couldn’t stop them and they did not rest. I could still hear them when I slept. There was no off-switch. That is until I met you!

You were a stranger to me. You took a chance with me when you came over to talk to me that Tuesday in French class. You didn’t treat me like an insect that needed to be squished. You didn’t see me as a freak just like everyone else did. You saw me as a person and that felt nice. As time went on, we spent more time together. Your laugh lit me up in my dark days and your touch electrified my body. We went out to bars and drank. You introduced me to tequila shots which caused my eyes to burn. You got me into new music such as Fleetwood Mac and the Killers. At first, I fought off my afflictions when I was around you. I didn’t want you to see the demons that were clawing inside my brain. But, I started to realise that the voices in my head became mute whenever I was around you. I could finally turn it off. I was no longer held back by my condition. I began to laugh more and I felt free for the first time in my life.

But the voices were right all along. I am worthless and I’ll never be able to make it in this world. The voices were gone for now but that does not mean they won’t come back. I didn’t want you to get involved with someone like me. A person who has to see a psychiatrist three times a week, who has to take 5 different drugs to dull their senses, who wakes up in a cold sweat or panics when she sees something that she knows isn’t real but who is still terrified of them. I couldn’t do that to you.

So I let you go by lying. I told you that you meant nothing to me. I told you that I used you to blow off steam. You denied the statements I was proclaiming but I remained strong and continued ramming them into you. It was hard seeing you coming to the realisation that I was serious and that this was over.

Everything started crashing down after that. The walls I built for myself came crumbling down and my demons came back with a vengeance. But they were almost nurturing towards me. They knew I would come back to them and that terrified me. Now, I question myself on whether or not, I made the right choice. I was a fool to let you go. You were the one good thing in my life and I ruined it. You made me feel safe. I guess it’s my turn to keep you safe and keeping you away from me is safe. I’m a ticking time-bomb just waiting to explode! It’s only a matter of time.

 

This extract is a work of fiction. I dedicate this extract to young people who suffer from mental illnesses. Stay strong and if you seek help, tell someone you trust.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Interview with a Writer #2

Hey guys! I’m back with another Interview with a Writer. This time, I’m chatting with a young writer named Shane Vaughan, the chief-editor of Stanzas (look at my previous posts if you want to know what Stanzas is). He is also an actor and editor of a new theatrical company called Cannibals Not Canadians (I will leave a link below). He currently lives in Cork in Ireland but he comes down every month to Limerick to help organise the Stanzas events.

Q1: How long have been writing?

I’ve been writing for roughly seven or eight years. I started with creative writing in English class and have been serious about it for the last three years or so.

Q2: Have you ever been published in a magazine, newspaper etc?

Yep. I’ve had a handful of poems published but my stories are doing better. I have three pieces coming out in June in three different magazines.

That’s class Q3. What books/poems have influenced your writing?

I got pretty obsessed with Sylvia Plath and J.D Salinger when I was younger, and their style really influenced me. That idea of writing as catharsis was very important to me. But as I’ve gotten older and written a bit more I’d say I’m much more influenced by Stephen King and Phillip Pullman: tell a story and tell it well.

I love Plath and Pullman. I have yet to read any of King’s books. Q4. What other writers do you idolise?

Idolise is a good word. I adore many; Rowling; Tolkien; martin; actually lots of fantasy now I think of it haha. But I try not to idolise. The writers I admire are unique in their own way. Great but unique. I want to be unique too.

Q5. Do you recall how your interest in writing originated?

It started with my mum reading me stories. Then my teacher trying to get me to express myself.

English teacher? Q6. Are you reading any good books at the moment?

English teacher yep!

At the moment I’m reading a biopic on Robert openheimer, he helped invent the first nuclear bomb. I also just finished the first in a series of books, the mortal engine quadrilogy, they’re both great!

It was the same with my English teacher. Q7. Besides you, who else is in charge of Stanzas?

There’s me, I do the chapbook side of things, Caleb Brennan organises poets, Jared organises the non-poet events, and Dan does a lot of the on the night work. We’re a slick team

xD Q8. Who came up with the idea for setting up Stanzas?

Well to be fair it was maeve and abigail who came up with the idea. Me and the boys were chatting about writing and how we didn’t feel there was a home for younger writers. So the girls asked us to do it there and now here we are!

And here yee are Q9. What was the inspiration behind forming stanzas?

Pretty much just that we wanted a cool space in the city for the arts. That and we love listening to good writing.

Q10. How long has Stanzas been running now?

April was our tenth month!

Q11. How many people would you say attend Stanzas monthly events?

We usually rope in fifty in average. Sometimes more sometimes less. Last Friday, we had over sixty.

Q12. How do you organise and maintain Stanzas events monthly such as how do you come up with the themes, how do you chose the guest poets etc?

We meet up every few months and plough through a big list. So in January we organised the next six months’ worth of stuff. Caleb seems to know every poet on the planet which is class! We try to make the themes link up with something in the month. So may is themed in equality for the referendum (vote!). Then we also try to do something a little different each month to keep things fresh. So in April we had three limerick singer songwriters come in to showcase their work.

And each event is planned really well and finally, Q13. What do you hope that the creative people who come to Stanzas get out of the experience?

If they enjoy their night and get inspired and maybe hopefully in ten years’ time look back as they’re launching their first book and they’ll say it all started with stanzas. Or maybe they’ll just have a swell Friday. It’s all good to me. ^^

If any of yee are interested in seeing what Stanzas is about, look up their YouTube page or if you live in Ireland, come down to Limerick for the monthly events J I’ll leave links to Stanzas WordPress, Facebook and YouTube account below! Its great stuff that they are doing and I hope they keep going with it for several years.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCIhtHvI8tpK1uk-p-mBG–w

https://www.facebook.com/StanzasLCK

https://stanzascellardoor.wordpress.com/

https://www.facebook.com/CannibalsNotCanadians?pnref=lhc

Favourite Authors #1: Jk Rowling

If you haven’t lived under a rock for the past 20 years, everyone knows who J.K Rowling is. She is the best-selling author of the Harry Potter series which has received positive feedback from people of all ages and has sprouted a successful movie franchise.

I loved the Harry Potter films. I grew up watching Philosopher Stone and Chamber of Secrets. I have watched them at least 20 times. But I never read the books. Before the age of 11, I hated reading. It was J.k Rowling that got me into reading. I read the first Harry Potter book and fell in love with it. I read it in the space of two days (that’s fast for me) and bought a collection of the books. I have now been trying to get my two sisters into the books. I have succeeded with one sister. The other one is more stubborn, I’m afraid. J.k Rowling’s creation of this world by using her words amazed me. It intrigued me and led me to read many more fantasy novels such as The Lord of the Rings (which ultimately led me to every other genre). And you could say she is the one that inspired me to start writing. This idea of creating worlds and characters that didn’t exist fascinated me. I started writing fantasy novels and short stories at a young age then moved on to more personal writing.

I love the way she creates her characters such as Hermione Granger and Severus Snape. Hermione has a strong sense of who she is and doesn’t follow the crowd. She is her own person. Snape is seen as evil and untrustworthy in the stories, but Joanne created him to be a complex character, stuck between the two sides, the light and the dark. It showed that we all have good and evil inside us. Her writing is immersive. Her descriptive writing on settings, food, the plot and the complexity of her characters draws you in as a reader.

I see her as an inspiration because she came from poverty. She wrote Harry Potter at a time in her life where she worked hard to try and provide for her daughter. She couldn’t have imagined that her book about a boy wizard would make her famous and earn her millions.

She wrote the book because she enjoyed. She didn’t do it for money or success. It was a hobby that she loved which ultimately led to the most popular book series in history. She also supports many charities such as Lumos and Comic Relief. What about you guys? what author/writer inspired you to write or got you into reading? Let me know I love to hear it 🙂 To finish off, here’s my favourite documentary about  J.k Rowling:

My Perfection Nazi

You were everything to me. I idolized you and your mannerisms. I accepted your flaws and trepidations. However, I began to see your intolerance for imperfections. You wanted everything in their place. You were an artist and I was your canvas. You started to mould me into your perfect mannequin. Any faulty kinks were removed. You could not tolerate them. At first, I allowed you to create. I allowed your artistic mind be at work, I let you pick at every part of my being. I guess I did it because I loved the way your eyes lit up when your imagination was running wild. I loved being a part of that. I helped you build me up into your masterpiece. But then time and time again, you pulled it apart so to begin the process again. I became a problem for you. My personality didn’t fit your perfect vision. My whole being didn’t fit your insane artistic paradise. You thought you could remodel me into your perfect sculpture, something you could marvel at. Something you could control and keep for yourself. You were ignorant to who I was. The artistic look in your eye had no longer impressed me. It scared me! It became an obsession.

I no longer saw a master at work. I saw the inner workings of a madman breaking free. You became frustrated and angry when you couldn’t remove my flaws. I couldn’t be your perfect creature and at first, I felt guilty. I thought it was my fault and that I was to blame. But I realized that I could never make you happy. In fact, no one could ever make you happy. I didn’t want to be your canvas anymore.

So I stepped down.

But you were relentless. You didn’t want me to leave. When you realised you couldn’t stop me, a long-standing war commenced. In the end, I lost the fight but I didn’t care. Because I knew you could never get what you wanted from me or anyone else. Your insane ideas of perfections were unrealistic.

I used to hate you. Now I only feel pity. I refer to you as “My Perfection Nazi.” You won many parts of my soul and caused deep scars that will take years to heal. But you lost the war for my whole being. You ruled with an iron fist but it wasn’t enough to keep me. Now, I’m free to be who I am with no one holding me back, while you stay ruling over a soulless dictatorship with other loyal slaves.

Ms Invisible

“Oh my God. Did you hear what happened?”

“Oh yeah, I heard. Poor thing!”

“Oh shut up, Jessica. You didn’t even know the girl”

“Neither did you, Bethany. What was her name again?”

“I don’t know. It’s still really sad.”

This has been going on all day. The news broke this morning of a seventeen year old girl who was found with a noose around her neck in her own bathroom. There is shock among the student body but there is also confusion. No one seems to know who she was. No one can describe what she looked like or even recall her name. It’s as if there is a brief shock then all is forgotten when people admit that “they didn’t know her.” I didn’t know you either. And I’m sorry for that. But I do remember you. You were the one who had your jet black hair tied up in a plait. You always did well in English class. You were the one who wrote the beautiful poem by the name of “Blossom.” You always had a smile on your face when you came into school every day. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you. I’m sorry I didn’t make an effort to know you.

I wonder why I am making a big deal about your passing. No one else seems to care. So why do I feel this sadness inside me? I guess, I felt this strange connection towards you. As if we were the same person. Of course, I don’t know if we had the same interests in books, politics or entertainment. I didn’t know anything about you.

The only thing we had in common was that we were always alone. In a classroom filled with students, I remember you sitting alone in the corner reading your classic novels, while I sat at the other corner listening to music. You hardly spoke to anyone or made yourself be seen. I guess your reason was fear, the fear of stepping out of your comfort zone. But I saw you. Even though, I didn’t know your name or who you were inside. I always saw you and how lonely you looked. No one else noticed when you were gone from school but I did.

You were Ms Invisible to everyone around you. No one ever saw you nor cared so you didn’t try. You stayed in your cold solitude. I guess one day, it got to you. The fact that no one knew you existed nor cared was too much. You saw the rope as your only option. I feel sadness because I wished I told you that I did notice when you were gone or when you were having a bad day. Maybe even a “hey” to brighten up your day. But I am just like you, too afraid to interact with anyone. I also feel sadness because I’m getting that feeling of cold loneliness too. I go about my daily life and no one cares. No one will care if I disappear for days on end. I don’t think anyone would notice. No one will care if I just die right now. I guess that’s just who I am. Just like you mystery girl, I’m Ms Invisible. I go about my life leaving no impact on anyone. I’m a miniscule anomaly on this earth. No one cares who I am or how I’m feeling! NO ONE CARES!!

So why should I care anymore?

Why should I care about life in general?

Why even continue on?

There is nothing for me here. I have brought nothing to this world and I will leave the same way. I will leave nothing behind. No legacy, no memory. Because there is nothing of me worth remembering.

I am nothing.

Winter

Everyone associates winter with Christmas; the joyous holiday filled with present giving, mistletoe and of course, Santa Clause. The smiles of little children opening their presents from Santa and their loved ones would warm anyone’s heart. I, myself, dont think of Christmas when I think of winter. I associate winter with darkness and no warmth. As December draws closer every year, I dont feel like rejoicing. I feel like locking myself away and retreating from the world. But the worst part of it, is winter comes to me every day, of every month, of every year. I can never escape winter because it is a part of me.

I sit in my cold cocoon and watch life pass me by. I interact with people but I never let them get close enough to see the harsh winters swirling inside of me. In a way, I saw it as protection. For a long time, this eternal winter frightened me but it was also my only companion. I would always welcome its icy cold embrace with open arms. It was all I knew. I had no one else to turn to. I saw no escape from its grasp. My parents never understood. They tried to understand why I would rather stay in my room with the blinds drawn, then go to a coffee shop with other teenagers. They got frustrated when they couldnt figure me out. Now, we just dont talk. They call it a “phase.” Well, this phase lasted for six years. I became inept to the world surrounding me. I didnt understand the functioning of society and the people in it. People came into my life but they were just smoke in the wind. I couldnt hold onto them. I was alone.

But then, something happened. I am still unsure what. All I remember is everything started to thaw. I no longer felt winters embrace. I felt a large weight coming off my shoulders. I began to smile more and then, I began to laugh again. The world seemed much brighter and clearer than before. I was no longer afraid. Winter no longer had control over me. It was no longer my platonic companion, just a season that comes only once a year.