S.R. Crawford's Blog, page 17

I want stories to tell

I realised today that I am not a writer. Yes, I write. Yes, I can write well at times. But I am not a writer.

A writer, to me, sounds like someone who is an expert; or enjoys it; or is well-practiced in the wielding of words. Words are their tools. They’re a wordsmith. Maybe they have an appreciation and understanding of etymology, metaphor, grammar, and the like. Maybe they don’t really mind the topic, as long as they get to use their skill of word-wielding.

I am not a writer, then.

I am not doubting myself or underplaying my abilities. I just know that my range of vocabulary leaves something to be desired. My metaphors can be bit cliche. I rush. I ramble. I ignore the rules. Heck, I don’t know some of the rules at all.

Instead, I’m rebranding my title. My purpose. My future. My identity.

I am a storyteller.

This is not a new word by any means! I didn’t make it up. Many people call themselves storytellers and I just want to get used to calling myself that, too.

A “novelist” doesn’t quite cut it, though it comes close. For me, a novelist makes me sound sort of pretentious. Or like I’m a literary writer.

An “author” is someone who is published, which I am but not in the way I wish to be. And that’s a limited title, too…

You see, I tell stories. In many ways, shapes, and forms. For young readers and older ones. Set in our world, and made-up ones. For me, and for you.

I am a character creator. I am a world builder. I am a magic conjuror. I am a theme explorer. And a plot seeker.

Writing is an element of storytelling. A tool for it. Like the builder uses the hammer, the storyteller uses writing to build their story. But it’s not the writing alone that I love. Or the writing alone that makes me do it. Or the writing alone that I feel is my deep calling.

I want my future to be about telling stories. Written ones, verbal ones, ones on the big screen, even, if I’m lucky. I want to step into a more confident version of myself, where I have interesting things to say, points of view and ideas to share, and people listen to me! Captivated by my stories. That’s why I need to live a life that’s not small.

No, I’m not seeking grand adventures. I’m a humble little introvert who likes the cosy comforts of her home. I’ll always seek a home space first. Carve a cave for myself with my nearest and dearest. But I do want to step out of my comfort and experience life. Experience thrills. Experience challenges. Experience growth. See the world and ask questions and speak in many languages to see how they feel and taste in my mouth. And taste! Gosh, eat my way around the world. Connect with people who have lived very different lives to me and cry or laugh together as though we were neighbours.

That’s what I want. That’s a peaceful, simple, beautiful life in my eyes. One full of stories written and spoken by me to wonderful people willing to listen. And time and space for me to sit back, eyes closed, and listen to the stories that others and this world have to share with me in return.

Doesn’t that sound perfect?

It would be nice if I can use this blog in more of a storytelling format, too. But we’ll see.

For now, thanks for reading. Thanks for being here with me.

Sincerely,

S. xx

Writing my novel this summer

I did it. The first draft of my adult dystopian fantasy is complete. 84,000 words written in 5 weeks (36 days) – not all of which were writing days. Started 26th July and finished 30th August. I got the idea sometime in June I believe.

The time has come and gone so quickly. I really didn’t know if I could write the whole book over summer, but I was focused. I made it a habit. I tried to write before doing anything else in the mornings (bar a jog or getting my coffee).

I enjoyed the process. I felt creative and in flow most days that I sat down to write. On the days I didn’t, I took more breaks and expected less from myself. I made up for the lower writing days with bigger ones. Balance!

Emphasis on the fact that I took breaks! I didn’t write actively all summer. Instead, I would write for 25 minutes at a time and take breaks. Do my yoga, reading, walking, workouts, cleaning, seeing people, etc. I lived my life and enjoyed myself and looked after myself around writing. Writing is something I love but it’s not worth doing if I’m hating myself or over tired or aching and hungry or lonely or whatever else!

My story is an adult dystopian fantasy. It’s set in another world, in a country called Desterra. The country has decayed overtime due to the reaping of natural resources. There is now a divided country rife with monsters and dark magic.

It follows four points of view and I think this helped me write it quickly and enjoy it so much. I have been able to slip into different heads and lives. Write from different vantage points, which allows me to be creative and bring a unique voice to my chapters.

I needed walks and conversations with friends and YouTube videos on writing and my knowledge from university and Pinterest boards, but more than anything, I needed the characters. I think my characters are intriguing to me. Flawed. Put in unique positions for change. The plot and setting isn’t all that counts. It’s the characters’ journeys. How they transform for better or worse because of internal and external conflict. My story had both and it felt natural this time.

I didn’t need the majority of the planning, note-taking, and prep I did beforehand. I often just started writing. This means that if you are struggling to plan and prepare, don’t stress about it. Maybe you don’t need all of that. Yeah, it’s good groundwork sometimes, but you needn’t think there is some prerequisite to writing your novel. Maybe you just need to start and as you go (as I did), you will discover more about your world, characters, and magic.

In my writing, I love to explore social issues and weave that into a fantasy world. I also love cultures. I think my magic and worldbuilding are about culture. That’s where the sweet spot is for me. Not “oooo look at this cool power or ability!” but instead the magic and worldbuilding is about the cultural influences it would have on a people. And a MC that is in that world, how would they speak? What would they know or not know? This is just very interesting to me and something I’ve noticed I’m enjoying/ getting better at in my stories.

Needless to say, this post is a bit braggy and rambling. Oh well! I’m proud of my writing this summer, and so I’m sharing my joy. I feel a sense of confidence and I’ve discovered more about myself as a writer. We must celebrate our own achievements. Cheer so loudly that it doesn’t matter if others cheer for us, too.

Sincerely,

S. xx

Coping Techniques: Where to put your anxiety

I was thinking today that it sounds nice to think of coping with your anxiety as “putting it somewhere“. Not getting rid of it, because anyone who suffers from anxiety knows that’s not always possible, but putting it into something. Putting it down. Putting it behind a curtain for a while. Just kindly leading it elsewhere. So this post provides some things that work for me.

Here are some coping techniques and ideas for where to put your anxiety:

Exercise: Anxiety is mental and physical, so moving your body will help to release the grip it has on you. Put your anxiety into your body and burn it away. Go for a jog, do some boxing (envision punching it if you need to!), a walk, a swim, or do a 10 min YouTube workout. Cleaning: This is something I am trying to do more because it works twofold. Firstly, you are moving your body like with exercise instead of sitting with anxious feelings. Secondly, you are ensuring your space is clear which is healthy and helps you to feel clearer of mind, too. Another thing is to declutter your space to remove the things that you no longer need and doesn’t bring you any joy.Written word: This can be journalling, blogging, creative writing, memoir writing, etc. Put your anxiety into words and sometimes you feel the relief of it being out of your head. It can help to organise your thoughts, see things differently/from another perspective, and just be an act of decluttering your mind.Spoken word: This could be putting your anxiety into words just saying it out loud. No one needs to hear you; you could say it out loud while alone. Or you could speak to a trusted friend. Tell them whether you want advice or help or just a kind listening ear.Breath: Breathwork is a great place to put your anxiety. There are many different breathing techniques that you can use to calm down and turn your anxiety into something you are better in control of.Yoga: This incorporates the above for me. Exercise, breath, “cleaning”, and spoken word. You can use affirmations to strengthen your practice (words). Incorporate meditations and breathwork/pranayama. And of course, you’re moving your body. Putting your anxiety into yoga means you are re-balancing the energies within. You are “cleaning” out the clutter within and helping things run more smoothly. Cooking: I find cooking very therapeutic. It’s like a mindfulness practice. It doubles as something good for your body, if you can cook something delicious for you that nourishes your mind and body. Anxiety is linked to gut health, so be careful with what you are consuming. Caffeine is a big no, alongside foods heavy in sugars and spice.Dancing: Again, moving your body but it is also a way to let loose. Move your body freely. Bop along to your favourite songs to feel good. Your anxiety doesn’t need to sit on top of you. You can dance with it until it leaves the dancefloor.Needs & Pampering: Looking after yourself is crucial for coping with anxiety. Once you neglect your needs, you are inviting anxiety to stay. Put your anxiety to sleep with a nap. Put your anxiety down the drain by showering and doing your hair. Let your anxiety seep out of your skin with a face mask. Soothe your anxiety out of your muscles with a massage or acupuncture (if you can afford it).

Sincerely,

S.xx

My toxic best friend (rumination)

Oh anxiety, the toxic friend who doesn’t understand that you don’t want to hang out with her anymore. She cares about you. Wants the best for you. But she doesn’t realise that all the screaming about the coming of wolves and eagles, is bringing the wolves and eagles to us. I tell her to shut up. She’s wrong. Nothings wrong. But she doesn’t listen. She’s too busy talking over me. Loud, loud, louder. She’s a right busybody. Always getting in other peoples business. Thinks she’s a mind reader! Can you really foresee the future? I don’t think so. But she’s really convincing. She’s articulate and intelligent and like I said, she wants to protect me and so I can’t help but listen to her. She makes some good points. That if I’m not careful I’ll mess up my life. That people don’t like me. That I’ll be alone forever. That I can’t do hard things. That life will consume me. And she’s right until she’s wrong, that’s the thing. And even though I prove her wrong she still comes back with her vicious whispers in my ear. And I’m the stupid one so of course she’s right. And she’s my best friend, isn’t she? No one is there for me like she is. She keeps me warm in the winter. Makes my heart beat fast. Fills my belly. It’s not a nice feeling but at least I feel something, right? Gos how long have we been friends now? I think since secondary school. But a bit before then. Maybe she comforted me after dad died. Maybe she was friends with my mom, brother and sister too. A family friend, you know? That’s what makes it awkward. Like how do you make her leave you alone when she’s always been there? Through the hard times and the good. I can’t imagine my life without her, though I dream of it. The ease. The ease. The clear breaths. The ease. Would she be lonely without me? I’m sure she’d find another friend. There’s plenty like me. Sadly. I think she’s popular. Yet people don’t see her when she’s with me. Just me. And they don’t like what they see. But she does. She tells me if I just stay with her in the dark that I’ll be safe. Safest. Just me, her and the dark. Just us and the dark. And yeah it’s cold and dark but I’m safe in that corner of the world. Away from the beauty that’s too much for me to handle. Away from responsibility that I’d surely mess up. Away from loved ones who will die anyway. Away from pain. Away from joy. Away from anything other than her and the dark. Yeah. That’s what she wants, my toxic best friend. I just hope…I hope I can keep over here, in the light, with the joy and the people and the things without her being too loud. But she’s loud. God she SHOUTS. Always SHOUTING. Leave me alone, would you? Just leave already.

Self Care September Ideas

I am trying to get ahead of the summer’s end blues and Seasonal Affected Disorder that I sometimes wrestle with come Autumn/Winter time. Therefore, I’m having a “Self-Care September”. This will help to refill my cup ready for October when my final year of university begins, as well as be gentle with myself while I’m settling back into work after the summer break.

If you feel like you need this, too, here are some ideas of what you can do to ensure you’re looking after yourself in September and with the coming of the new season:

Read slowlyWalk out in nature without distractions or purposeForget about a to-do list, or racing towards goals for a monthRead Autumn/Winter vibe booksJournal about your feeling, wants, hopes, fears, pastBook a session with a therapist or counsellorYin or Restorative Yoga (slower pace, gentle)Book a massage or acupuncture sessionKick and crunch autumn leaves beneath your feetWrite about your year so farCollect the prettiest leaves and put them in your journalPlan for October so you feel excited about itPlan a solo date of your favourite thingsWatch your favourite films/shows from when you were a kidCuddle with your pet, partner, sibling, parent, carer, friend, or colleague (with their permission!)Social media detox (at least turn off notifications and delete them from your phone often)Listen to music that makes you want to danceSpend less money, and put more towards your dreams/plans for the futureOrganise your space (desk, computer, phone, emails, cupboards, wardrobe, etc.)Go to bed early and wake up early (not because of work but because you feel well-rested)Guided meditationsGentle, guided runs/jogs (to inspire you and keep you company)Read a self-help/psychology/spirituality/philosophy book (slowly, focus!)Write shoddy poetry (maybe some good poetry, too!)Learn a new recipe for some feel-good foodMake a mood boardTry out some new outfits that feel good and fit the seasonBathe with succulent scentsGet advice and budget for any cost of living changes that will affect you (better to be ready than panic later)Play with new hairstylesPaint your nailsGo on a date with someone (friend or otherwise) and have a no phones ruleWrite a list about somethingTake photos of pretty things (first, appreciate the pretty things!)Tend to your sleep hygiene (room temperature, clothing, times, caffeine, noise, relaxation etc.) List your accomplishments, proud moments, and times when you overcame your fears or surprised yourselfCompliment someonePlace your left hand on your heart and your right on my stomach and breath into your handsSit in gratitude for the things you have (don’t just list them or write them, really picture them and smile and be in that feeling)Take time to care for your skin, hair, nails, hygiene, etc.Intuitive, flowy, self-led yoga where you get lost in your body and give it what it needs instead of following a video and pushing through itEating intuitively and mindfully (instead of watching TV and waffling it down 5x faster than it took to cook it!)Talk about your hopes and dreams and life in general with someone you vibe withRead poetry slowlyDraw or paint or doodleSit outsideMeditate outsideJournal outsideRead outsideFeel the grass between your toes

September’s Song (journal entry)

September’s song slips over the hill. She’s on her way. And as much as coffee dates and jumpers feed my soul, I’m terrified of summer’s end. Why can’t I have it both ways? The endless days of summer, alongside the cosy autumn vibes? Because the colours rust, orange, and burnt yellow are my favourite. A kaleidoscope of colour cyclical in nature captured in one short season. What a mood! And Halloween. Oh how the spooky, dark aesthetic enlivens my creativity. I want to write about demons and ghosts and the afterlife. October is laced with obligations and deadlines, though, as university comes back to busy me. I don’t mind. I enjoy the work. But September and October, with all their beauty, team up to steal my time and energy.

How the cruel Gods do jest.

This September, I plan to slow down. This year has been good to me so far. Full of opportunities for growth and saying yes despite my crippling fears. But it’s time to slow down now. End gently. I’ve been alight this summer. Waking early and writing. Writing this, writing that. Writing always. It’s the summer fires burning within my sacrum. My creative chakra. But as September’s song plays around me, I must learn to dance a gentle waltz to the melancholy music.

Read but not to some goal, speeding through and not enjoying the words or the characters I’m spending time with. Giving myself permission to relax and settle back into the routine of work and being around people. To tend to my needs first and foremost. The end of the year feels full already, and so I mustn’t fill it to bursting. Let myself have afternoons, though infrequent, in quiet.

I’m going back. Back to the spirituality/philosophy/psychology self-education from the past. Tending to the interior energies and systems because the exterior has taken priority lately. They need equal attention. One cannot work without the other. September is my chance to do that. Before university begins, tend to your inner garden. Water the flowers so they may bloom brightly; prune the dead branches so they won’t destroy the whole.

Refocus.

Inward.

Breathe.

Peace.

Ease.

Root.

I don’t need to fret about ending my year on a high. I’ve had an amazing year already. I have things on the cards that will ensure my year still challenges and pushes me towards growth, beauty, life, and love. And so, I can sit in the non-doing state. One of effortless action, ease, gentleness, and meditation. I want to end the year having read one great book, rather than ten more so-so or poor ones. I want to end the year feeling positive about my creative works, not happy simply because I hit a word count. I want to do yoga and keep jogging and improve my strength, but not to keep up with the Joneses at the gym who are sculpted and fit. Instead, to feel good within, focus on my own metrics for success and self-worth.

Let September’s Song be kind to the spirit and enticing to the heartstrings. Let it make me drift onto the dance floor with a smile on my face, knowing no one is watching; I am alone bar the gentle support of my nearest and dearest. I twirl, and swirl, and cast my face toward the heavens knowing come rain or shine, I still grow (for I need both).

Come rain or sun, I rise.

Come rain or sun, I smile.

Come rain or shine, I dance.

Inhale, 1, 2, 3, 4

Hold, 1, 2, 3, 4

Release, 1, 2, 3, 4…

Summer is not ending. September is entering. September is offering her compassionate hand to me and I will take it willingly. Let us dance slowly until I feel ready to start running again.

Sincerely,

S. xx

Careful with complacency and fixed ideas

I’m re-realising that I need to be careful with the stories I tell myself about myself, other people, life, and the world. This narrative I’m creating about who I am and what I want. The lies. The fears that speak so confidently that I think they’re true.

That I’m a weak person. I can’t handle hard things.

That I’m holier-than-thou and judgemental only because I’ve analysed myself and so I know better.

That I don’t like this thing or I can’t do that thing or that’s not me.

It’s disturbing. And wrong. And sad.

I think it hurts because I felt like I’d grown past this. That I was self-aware enough to notice these things and not subscribe to these narratives. But alas, I’m reminded that self-growth is a journey and it’s not linear. You’re not bad and then good. Broken and then healed. Unaware and then self aware.

Your attention, beliefs, actions, and words will ride waves continuously over time.

It’s funny because with some people, I truly hate everything that comes out of my mouth. I feel inferior. I feel stupid, mostly. Inexperienced. Then with others (a smaller number), I feel better than them. Smarter. As if I’m right and they’re obviously wrong because I’m more intelligent and enlightened and self-aware than they are.

I flip between the extremes.

I think that’s the problem here. I was saying to my husband not too long ago that I value balance. He asked me to explain. I said that extremes are dangerous. Wholly subscribing to one idea, belief, or way of life over another is not healthy. We need ebbs and flows. A bit of this and a bit of that. If nothing else, we at least need to always remain open to the idea that we can be wrong. That what we believe, no matter how good and right it might sound to us (or the majority), still might not be the whole story. That other people and opinions have something to offer us so we can’t close ourselves off to these things.

Balance doesn’t mean equal parts of something. I means embracing spectrums and grey areas and this-thing-inside-of-that-thing and an awareness that we can’t have the full picture without opening our eyes and minds to possibilities. It’s being aware of and living by the idea of avoiding fixed extremes; polar opposites on a spectrum.

Consider how often you (like I think I subconsciously do) go searching for things that validate your own beliefs and experience. Instead of being genuinely curious and open to other perspectives, multiple truths, or hard evidence against your beliefs. Basically, do you genuinely allow yourself to be wrong about things? Does it hurt when you’re wrong? Do you get defensive? Or worse in denial about it?

It’s not something to beat yourself up about, simply something to explore. Because a healthier, open-minded, intelligent person (like I want to be) doesn’t get so easily hurt by being wrong or “losing” – which is how it feels.

Why am I in competition with everyone?

I’m really taking some time in the contemplative moody autumn/winter to explore where my need to be right comes from. Where my competitiveness comes from. There is, of course, such thing as healthy competition. This inspiration to do and be better; push yourself a healthy amount to new heights. But being competitive all the time, so much so it hurts you to be wrong, is not fun. You so easily feel stupid, weak, boring, or like a failure just because someone knew something or could do something you thought you did. It’s not a nice feeling. And it causes more problems than needed.

Be careful with complacency. Thinking you know everything. You’re so sure. You’re right.

Be careful with fixed ideas and belief systems. They are harming you. They are keeping you in the dark. They are narrowing your point of view.

Be careful with thinking you are better than other people. Don’t decide who they are (or who you are) and fix yourself to a narrative about them and their views.

Embrace humility. Don’t downplay your worth or beat yourself up, but know that, like Jon Snow, you know nothing! And that’s okay. That means there’s room for you to be a learner. Always a learner. To actively listen and interpret and go deeper with new insights and explore.

“The wise man knows he knows nothing, the fool thinks he knows all.“

Sincerely,

S. xx

Types of productivity – it’s all valid

Something I’m working on is recognising the ebbs and flows of my day. We can’t be high-energy all action and in our power all day. But we can still be productive all day. What I mean is recognising the ways we can be productive depending on our energy levels. Tuning in and tending to the needs of our bodies and minds depending on our energy, your power, and our time even. Because how much time you have or where you are will factor into what you can do, too.

Here are some ways to be productive and look after yourself depending on your energy levels:

Softer, low-energy productivity:

Yin Yoga/ Restorative yoga

Hatha yoga

Reading fiction or shorter/simpler books

Meditation

Walking

Light jogging

Dancing

Deep conversations

Journaling

Planning or plotting

Curious research

Blogging about personal things

Timed cleaning sessions

Harder, high-energy productivity:

Running

Strength training

Dance workout

Reading non-fiction or classics

High-Intensity Interval Training (HIIT workouts)

Writing sprints or marathons

Vinyasa yoga

Intense, specific research

Blogging about deeper or research-based topics

Cooking and meal prep

Chores

Budgeting and spreadsheets

Administrative duties

Sincerely,

S. xx

‘I Think, Perhaps’ (a short story)

By S. R. Crawford

Attending your own funeral is not only allowed but encouraged. Best to accept one’s death in witnessing those who have come to mourn you. Of course, you mourn yourself, too. All the things you weren’t. All the things you’ll never be, now.

I thought too much. I wished with all my heart and then it fell to nothingness, like ash on the tongue and the eyelashes. Thousands of books could be filled with all the things I wished I could do, see, have, be. A yoga teacher; a traveller; an animal and wildlife conservationist; a bookseller; an author; a therapist; a poet; a professor; a film maker; a film critic; an influencer; a journalist; a chef; a life coach. Maybe this is why I landed on being a writer so young. It’s a way to cheat the system. You get to slide in and out of many lives crafted upon pure curiosity; and lies. For storytellers are the most well-trained liars. We make you believe in something in a small number of words. A magician. A hypnotist. The expert of which will do so so cunningly that you don’t realise you slipped into another world. That you had become a part of the lie.

Matt Haig’s The Midnight Library captured something so innate in all of us; the fear of living the wrong life. That there are choices we make every day, leading us down new paths. For everything we say yes to, we are saying no to everything that isn’t that thing. How terrifying is that? Follow a road long enough and to turn around would mean a head-on collision. Casualties. Deaths. So no, you don’t turn around; you keep going. And going. Making new decisions and hoping the outcome, the new path, is a little less wrong.

Looking down into the coffin, you see, hopefully, an elderly version of you. She’s pretty, even with the wrinkles wrapping tightly around her face. Too much sun, perhaps. Hopefully a lot of laughter. You let your hair go grey; good for you. There are no lies in the coffin. No more stories to tell but one: how you died. No, not what killed you. Instead, how you felt in death. Did you embrace it with open arms or flailing, kicking limbs? Were you ready?

What does it mean to be ready? I think, perhaps, we can’t ever be ready; only not not ready anymore. You know? Like the fear slips slowly from your fingertips and one day you realise it’s not all-consuming anymore. You don’t panic at the idea of getting married, having a baby, buying a house, travelling the world, quitting your job, chasing your dream, or letting go anymore. You greet Death as someone you’ve always known. She’s that quiet girl who sits in the corner of the public library. You think she’s weird, creepy, and unnerving because her quietness is deafeningly loud. But really, she has a lot to offer you. She’s a place of safety. Comfort. Truth. She sees your lies and casts them aside with a lucid smile that is sticky, melted caramel. And you take a taste because you’re not not ready anymore. You realise you can dance with her, and it will be alright.

But what of the people left behind? Those who knew your dreams and your lies. How do they shoulder this weightlessness you’ve left over? A cavern. A pit. An abyss. You hope. The ugly scars on their hearts stretched out onto their skin. Everyone sees their grief, now. And you’re not there to soothe it.

My ghostly hand reaches out and finds no one.

Maybe you should beg for more time. Yes, be that guy. The one who screams and gets on his hands and knees and asks ‘Why, God, why?’ It’s pathetic but maybe we’re all that person. The person who is never truly satisfied with the time they are given. Say we all made it to one hundred years old before we died, we would still complain of how short life is.

Don’t we make it shorter, though? With the fretting and fighting. With the comparison and competition. With the hating and harbouring grudges. With the wishing and wanting. With the more, more, more. We are never satisfied. And stop thinking that one day you will be. This life you’ve chosen to live is a tightrope. An endless tightrope drawn across the world, going around and around and around.

We cannot find land, for there is none.

We cannot stop walking, for we will fall.

Maybe I’m lying again. Oops! Maybe life is abundant, and you will have it all simply because you – you unique, little thing you – you wanted it. You want it? You got it! Maybe you will one day smile at a sunrise and say to yourself, ‘I am happy. I made it. I did it.’ And you’ll stop racing around like a headless puppy. Stop worrying and planning and scrolling. Yes, that sounds nice, doesn’t it?

Believe what you want. We all do. We write our scripts and speak the words and pretend it was someone else who produced it. No. Even though your poor mother bore you; smiled down at you in her arms, then hurt you like you hurt her, it’s still your fault. No, not fault. Responsibility. Yes, that fun word. Your responsibility to stop being a fuck-up. Your responsibility to go, ‘Hang on a minute, I don’t like this narrative,’ and fucking write a new one.

Damn it, take the pen and write a new one.

Your hands can shake and the words may not make sense but we’re all writers, storytellers, liars. Lie until it’s true. Because what is truth, anyway? It doesn’t exist unless you can prove it. So prove it. make me believe it.

When you’re tired of lamenting all the wrong decisions, take a moment to cup your smooth, angelic old face and kiss yourself. Thank yourself for everything. The good, the bad, and the shitty. Well done for living, for it’s a hard thing to do. Well done for loving, for it’s a vulnerable thing to do. Well done for getting up each day and lying to yourself until you were not not ready to die.

Then slip inside the coffin, see how it fits. Wave goodbye to your crowd. You were a great audience! Thank you! Then rest, damn it. Rest. Because you earned it.

A Writer Be (poem)

Who are you

If you can’t stitch sentences slowly

With real intention and wonder?

A world rife with the unfair and cruel

Become words on my page.

Awakened and raw

They hold everything

And nothing.

Maybe my wants are too cruel, too

Because how can I capture

A memory? A place? A person?

Isn’t it impossible,

No matter the wordsmith,

To create a whole world

With words alone?

Words are powerful. Nuanced.

But there’s not enough of them;

Not enough meaning in language

To ever be the writer

You think you want to be.