Write through the darkest hour of your daylight

Write about what matters, go for what is important. Find the extreme describe and define that extreme, there you might find the truth of yourself, your story,your character. The deeper meaning can only lay somewhere far beyond. Make it far enough and people will follow you and help you look for and then find what is the meaning of your story, your article, your character.
Push boundaries. Go places where you are not safe. Go places where you have never been. Places you are afraid to name. Go there and give them a name. Find yourself and that barren and unfriendly and lonely place. There you too will meet the raison d’etre of your story, of your effort. You will help define who you are as a person by exploring what you didn’t want to look at or write about. Find a space you can call home, tell yourself what your place is on this earth but you will too help your reader to get closer to his and her own self by making them face their fear and anxieties. Give their despair and loneliness a name.
Help them cope with the fact that we are all lonely but that there is an invisible community holding your hand, walking with you in the barren and unfriendly land that is your life in the dark hours of the morning, in the darkest of your daylight hours.

Writing as the essential of me

Writing as the essential of me. Writing is what makes me as a person and defines my humanity. Writing is what makes me a better human being. Writing is a way to connect and to construct my relationship with the world close by and at large. Through writing i communicate with people and places i will never see and never speak to or share their bit of earth with for a time.
Writing creates my link with the environment and with the people on this world. I write about them, talk to them, sometimes create them to suit my current ideas and concepts.
Writing is what establishes me as a person. A person who cares and observes and notices things that are difficult to live with at times and who needs to observe the reality of being alive on a deeper level to understand what makes the world go round and what makes our fellow humans do what they do.
Writing helps me to understand and explain to myself the unspoken rules that rule the world. The spokes that turn and turn us around with them. Why do we do what we do and why do we say what we say?
And we overhear people talk and we laugh with them and sometimes but not cruelly at them. We cry with them and we are angry with them. Writing is what being me, is all about. Writing is how i communicate with other

And why do i write?

and why am i writing? writing feels just like a virus, a habit that has overcome you. Writing dominates your life and your thoughts. At times a bit like a soothing blanket, a comforter, a hand to pat me on the shoulder and say you know everything’s gonna be alright. Something that makes me talk and think about things so as not talk or think about others things.
Sometimes things appear on my page which really disturb and trouble me. It looks off and not really something i recognise. Things that affect me on so deep level and take me places i had forgotten or didn’t know existed. They are there hidden under layers of experience, years of self doubt and wanderings in the desert.

Business of writing

Writing like an entrepreneur. Writing with a business plan and timetables over one or two or more years. As in knowing where you are going and what you want to present. Writing as a business, as a serious grow up thing. A bit like school and a bit like you really mean it and you want it and you would do anything to get there.
But then there a writer like me who write a lot, bucket loads of words. They flow. They are not called. you sit down and they happen and then some more and you cant stop. There is no switch to stop yourself as there was no stop switch to get yourself start. I becomes a habit. Something you do and some days it is like a chore. Something you wish you had never started. Something that should somebody else’s burden. Take that chalice away from me. But no i will drink of it the sweet wine of words written and thrown out. Raw and fresh and still alive when put to paper or a screen.
What do i wish to write about. I have two novels on the go and loads of poetry that needs revisiting and reshaping and making more for today although just a few years, months days old. Notice i avoid reworking. I don’t talk about doing anything useful with them. I just want to see them again and remember the feelings and the moments that made me sit down and take notice and write till i was ready to move on and to accept that those things happen. And then you move on. The poems stay behind but your life has gone other places, met other people. you no longer are the person who did the writing. But is yours and it is there but unlike and adult child or even an infant child. You cant make changes to them they are their own people. They walk their own path. But poems are more flexible. The children we can manipulate, make ours more over time by going back and editing and making them say what you want them to express now and not the things that were burdening, upsetting or making you sing for joy. All those are in the past. in your past.
Now there is a new you and those poems are like old friends or a neglected garden which you make yours by telling them they haven’t change one bit and then very gently and you insert new meanings and new memories and you rewrite you own history.