“Tell me about yourself,” my date asked. His jawline was sharp, gaze sharper and so I was blunt.
“I’ve got such trapped wind right now.”
Yeah. Yeah. He’s not my date anymore.
There are so many things I could tell you about myself. That’s true of all of us. So where do we begin? How do we choose? What defines our most notable attributes? What makes certain things more worthy of knowing than others? Where is our value derived?
And that got me thinking. A book is valuable not because of a single page, but because of the entire story…
Honestly, I tend not to reference myself in the third person — as though I am some omnipresent narrator observing myself from a faux leather recliner somewhere, a bowl of sweet and salty popcorn perched in my lap. To me, that would be like commentating the life of a parallel version of myself. And I’d like to think she spends a lot less cash on jars of peanut butter and Rick and Morty merchandise (only because that means there’s more left out there for me!).
But anyway. In the words of one Joseph Francis Tribbiani; how you doin’?
“Do you like this outfit?” You ask your sister, twirling in the hallway in your two piece lilac corduroy suit. She looks sceptical. Her answer will change the course of your life.
If she says yes, you’ll wear it out. Which is exactly what you’re hoping she’ll say because you love it, but you’re worried it’s “too much.” It’s not though, not to Liam, the cute boy you later meet on the tube who strikes up a conversation about how the colour brings out your eyes. You two are married by Halloween — you both wear pastel coloured corduroy suits.
Stop it now.
Stop wasting your life. Stop crying into your cat pillow. Stop waiting for his name to appear on your phone screen. Stop checking your emails every six minutes. Stop pinching your belly rolls. Stop pining for love. Stop binge eating HobNobs. Stop being afraid to go to the gym alone. Stop avoiding eye contact. Stop doubting your judgement. Stop thinking you’re too loud, too obnoxious, too much. Stop questioning your choices. Stop not making any.
Stop using your phone so much. Stop relying on it as a source of entertainment, attention, inspiration. You’re the main…
I got blocked today. Because of my face.
For the first time ever (that I’m aware of) a boy actively removed me from his existence because he wasn’t a fan of my appearance.
It stung a little, I’ll be honest. A lot, actually, as my journal and smeared eyeliner will tell you. Because, I mean, come on now.
Imagine being exiled because of the curvature of your thighs. Imagine being banished because your forehead has too much depth. Imagine being disregarded completely because you don’t look the way somebody wants you to look. Imagine such crap.
Maybe if we were…
You need to ruin your journal. This instant.
Stop trying to keep it pristine. Stop trying to make it look flawless. Stop wasting the pages from fear that you’ll mess them up. Life is a mess. Your journal doesn’t need to be immaculate, because existence is anything but. You want it to capture the moments right? The real ones, not just the good ones, and authenticity means chaos. The universe is mayhem by default. Your journal needs to be the same.
So stop trying to say within the lines. Stop being afraid to spell things wrong. …
First drafts get way too much hype.
Just Google it. See how many articles, links, advice columns appear? It’s in the name I guess, the first draft supposedly being the first obstacle we must overcome in order to get our writing written.
But that’s a lie. That’s false information. That’s misleading, lady.
Because it’s not, not really. The first draft might be the first huge ass chunk of content that we create, but it is by no means the first part of the writerly process. Not even close.
And maybe that’s why we get so hung up on the damn…
Just for one day — let’s stop.
Stop making things. Stop doing things. Stop fixing things. Stop learning things. Stop trying things. Stop demanding things. Stop rushing things. Stop changing things. Stop waiting for things. Stop worrying. Stop stressing. Stop crying. Stop hiding. Stop regretting. Stop pushing. Stop stopping. Stop shouting at each other. Stop degrading one another. Stop expecting more. Stop settling for less. Stop fretting about the worst. Stop trying to do your best. Stop overthinking. Stop undereating. Stop giving up. Stop giving in. Stop giving yourself away. Stop taking on too much. Stop doubting your abilities. Stop…
When an idea strikes, it’s like diarrhoea.
Without warning it passes through us, desperate to be splurged into existence. We’re frantic, desperate, grappling around for the nearest sheet of paper or square of loo roll — anything so we can release the damn thing.
When you gotta go, you gotta go, you know? Sometimes you just have to crap some content into the world. And those times are ace (albeit messy) because everything just seems to flow. There’s movement. Substance. Pants stained with creativity.
When an idea strikes like this, we simply have to sit our ass down and let…
Maybe your glass is half empty. Or perhaps it’s half full. Or there’s nothing at all, the liquid contents is null. Or worse still — get the broom! — the glass has broken on the floor. There are shards littered everywhere.
What has this life got in store?
So what if your glass is chipped? Or dirty and stained? Or half full of a liquid that tastes bitter, leaves you drained? It doesn’t matter if your glass is not how you desire.
Let me tell you why it’s perfect, however, it might transpire.
A glass that’s half empty — half…
I imagine in a parallel universe I might be a caricaturist or a botanist or somewhere asleep on the moon — but here, I am a writer.