Gavin Whyte's Blog, page 16

A Writer’s Quest – Part 1

Why am I writing this post?

Because I want to give my muse a reason to show up. I want her to know that more than just yours truly is expecting to see her.

Here’s the thing: I’ve been contracted to write a book for a prestigious Taiwanese movie director (in English).

I have less than ten months to get the thing done.

I’ve started it four times. One of them is 6,000 words; the others are less than 2,000, but each time I hit a wall, whereby that inner voice says, “This isn’t right.”

Too much internal pressure? Maybe.

Do I need to relax more? Possibly.

Too self-conscious? Definitely.

I feel like I’m digging for oil; trying to find a vein that will see me through to the end. So far I’ve been hitting dead ends. Actually, it’s more painful than that; I’ve been finding veins that I think hold potential, only to watch them dry up.

So here goes.

The clock says 19:45.

By 21:15 I want to have written 750 words that I’m happy with.

Do you hear me, Ms Muse?

I’ve told the nice people who read my blog that you’re playing a cruel game, that you’re a tease, so are you going to show up or what?

*

Will report back to base at 21:20 hours.

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The Day and the Night (A Poem)

I wake up,

And forget how miraculous that is,

For today could be The Day

I don’t go to bed;

Today could be The Day

Something happens;

A voyage to an unknown land undertaken.

Would I know I was going?

Would I have chance to pack my bags?

My favourite paperbacks?

Would I have chance to kiss her goodbye,

To say thank you,

And more?

Probably not.

Yet I wake up,

And forget how miraculous it is,

For today could be The Day.

*

I go to bed,

And forget how miraculous that is,

For tonight could be The Night

I go to sleep forever.

Tonight could be The Night

Something happens;

A voyage to an unknown land undertaken.

A land that sits beyond my dreams,

The one I kick myself for hoping it is there.

Would I know my eyes wouldn’t open again?

Would I have chance to wake her up and say,

“I’m going now.”

And she would say, “Going where?”

“I don’t know,” I would say. “But I just wanted to tell you that-”

Most likely not.

Foresight reminds me to live and to love,

To try my best,

To sing my song.

But how often I turn up late,

Grasping at hindsight,

Forgetting that tonight could be The Night.

*

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Blessings.

Gavin

 

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When I Am Here (A Poem)

When I am Here,

The world,

Every moment –

(Although just this one) –

Is caked

In an unfathomable peace.

When I am Here,

Every-day things,

Not the simplest of things,

Become the most wondrous:

A blade of grass,

A stranger’s smile,

The wind against my skin,

The reflection of a bird in a puddle,

And they often move me to tears,

When I am Here.

Untainted joy.

When I am not Here,

Everything is diluted by Just;

Just a smile;

Just a bird;

Just the wind;

Just a human;

And I am left feeling guilty,

And disappointed in myself,

Because Just is ignorance

In the making.

Trying to get rid of Just

Doesn’t seem to work,

And so I gamble with it,

Hoping that today,

Just for a moment,

It will subside,

And allow me to be Here.

“The day you teach the child the name of the bird,

the child will never see that bird again.”

Krishnamurti

*

Thanks for reading.

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Blessings.

Gavin

 

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Quote – The Alchemist

“Everyone seems to have a clear idea of how other people should lead their lives, but none about his or her own.”

The Alchemist

Paulo Coelho

I don’t normally read two works of fiction at the same time, but I started reading The Alchemist (for the second time) at the same time I found Howl’s Moving Castle, in the library. I couldn’t help myself. So it’s those two that I’m reading at the moment.

Whatever you’re on with, happy reading!

*

Thanks for stopping by.

Blessings.

Gavin

 

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Every Saturday (99-Word Flash Non-Fiction)

Every Saturday, weather permitting, you and your family went for a walk.

By family you mean your parents, your older sister (your youngest sister hadn’t been born yet, and so this must have been before you were 8), your aunties and uncles, as well as your all-female cast of cousins. (You were the only boy on your mum’s side.)

Your grandad completed the group. The smell of his cigarettes in the fresh countryside air was strangely comforting.

Your nan never came. She was happy to stay behind. She had fallen too many times and fear had taken a firm hold.

*

Thanks for reading.

Please be a Superstar by Liking and Following.  

Blessings.

Gavin

 

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Quote

“…for to be independent and earn the praise of those she loved were the dearest wishes of her heart, and this seemed to be the first step toward that happy ending.”

Little Women

Louisa M. Alcott

*

Thanks for stopping by.

It would be grand if you Liked and Followed by blog

Profuse (Haiku)

Every day, I

have a profusal of gifts

to help me see.

 

Unfathomable

patience they seem to employ

when dealing with me.

*

Thanks for stopping by.

It would be grand if you could Like and Follow.

Blessings.

Gavin

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Miles Away (A Poem)

Miles away, we become,

When we’re lost enough to defend

The accumulation of memories,

Time spent practising how to pretend.

We think we’re being true,

When thinking proves it’s false;

To know who we are is to see a nothing,

That mirrors a nothing, of course.

We must remember when we have lost our way,

When we’re coming on way too strong,

Because if we really think we’re someone at all,

We might want to consider we’re wrong.

*

Thanks for reading.

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Blessings.

Gavin

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Few Things Worse (100-Word Flash Non-Fiction)

You shared your birthday with your great-auntie, your grandad’s older sister.

Their mother had died before he had the chance to get to know her, and so his sister was like a mother to him.

You were sitting on the coal shed, with your back against the kitchen window, happily playing with your toys, when your grandad came outside.

He hadn’t seen you, but when he did he turned away and took a shaky inhale.

Your great-auntie died that day.

“There’re few things worse than seeing a grown man cry,” you remember your nan saying.

You knew what she meant.

*

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Gavin

 

 

 

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The Sad Snowman (100-Word Flash Fiction)

He was the first snowman I had ever built.

Coal for eyes, a fresh carrot for a nose, pebbles for a mouth; I stood back to look at my handy work. He looked good, not too fat, nor too thin. He didn’t look happy, though, no matter how I arranged the pebbles.

Dad was watching me through the kitchen window. His hands were wrapped around a mug of hot tea.

“I’m sad.”

I turned to my snowman.

“What?”

“I said I’m sad.”

“It’s because you’re cold.”

“Can you warm me up, so I’ll be happy?”

“I’ll bring out the kettle.”

*

Thanks for reading.

Please be a Superstar by Liking and Following. 

Blessings.

Gavin

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