THE TRIPLE ‘P’ PHASE (post prostitution phase)

Hello to you all and for those of you just visiting this blog for the first time – either because you stumbled upon it (led by the ever loyal angels working in my favor) or because of the provocation of the title (you’d be surprised as well as I was by the traffic I got off of the last one)- I want to say a hearty welcome and to dash your hopes a little.

And no, I am not a prostitute: never was, and never will be. It’s all a metaphor and a brilliant one If I may add.

So, the “post prostitution phase” -believe you me, it’s a thing- and what have I been up to since my last post?

You see making affirmations like that one requires you to think even harder of what you have to do, because as much as it strengthens your dedication, so also does it make you realize that you’re swimming across the ocean and the only reality of a shore is the one that you have in your heart. The good news is that it is the most powerful reality you can fathom because it has the possibility of coming true while the bad news is that if somewhere along the way you take your eyes off that picture, you are going to drown.

So what do you do? You make damn sure that your eyes remain on that picture in your heart and as much as you possibly can, to expand it, because as you continue to swim across the waters it will get harder, however, an ever increasing picture is always guaranteed to keep you fighting except of course, you don’t give a damn anymore, and are more than willing to drown.

If that is your case, then this blog is not for you and so I’d strongly suggest you wander away but be sure to bookmark it to return to in the near future, when there will be posts on the updates of the progress of my published books. Maybe then you’ll believe me when I say that:

Drowning is NOT an option

Since my last post I’ve gone back to read Amanda Hocking‘s blog and while at it I’ve been amazed by the story it tells. It begins from just a few years ago when she began posting news on how discouraged she was from the countless rejections she’d been getting from literary agents to how she began her self publishing journey and now how she’s enjoying the success that her books have attained. One thing continuously hammered into me as I read along her posts was that not once was drowning ever an option. She whined about it, she complained, but never, through all her frustrations was it ever an option because as she said- and this is taken from the September 7, 2009 post on her blog:

At the end of the day, despite all the rejection and pain, the thing that makes me the happiest is writing. And maybe that’s the point. Even if I can’t get paid to do something I love, at least I can do something that I love. At least I have that.

I gave a similar answer to this answer on my last post for “why I ever thought I could be a writer” but that aside, did I mention that she went on to sell 1.5 million copies of her self published books over the course of 20 months, made $2.5million and thereafter signed a $2.1million publishing deal? Well just incase you missed the memo, you can read the entire story as published by the guardian here and hers as published on her blog.- here.

Whether I mention the money or not or seem focused on it, it doesn’t really matter because you cannot NOT drown unless this is what you have dedicated your heart to. This means no more bridges to fall back on, and no more prostitution. Again, refer to my previous post, if you are still unclear of what I am talking about.

My point in this post is this: Now you’ve made the decision, now what? Now you’ve dived into the ocean, the bridge is in flames and crumbling behind you, now what?

NOW YOU SWIM

You swim because that’s all you can do, but the second most important thing I’m going to say is this:

THERE ARE MANY WAYS TO SWIM

But not all of them guarantee that you reach the shore that you have envisioned in your heart. You can reach the shore that others have reached, or the ones that they want you to reach and its okay, but for me that will never be enough because the only shore that matters, is the one that I see.

In the past few days i’ve increased my efforts to learn and find other avenues because over the past few months i’ve received too many rejections to count and although none of them have even for a moment shaken my resolve (because there’s no bridge to swim back to) I am kind of getting bored by the formulaic “thanks but no thanks.”

So now I’ve started considering self-publishing and so I’m working towards it although I haven’t entirely made the decision. That is based on my personal principles and so I’m still leaving a door open until I get the confirmation I need because once I say it’s a yes, then I will not go back on my word. So if eventually I do decide to, my work will be going out in December of this year and so i’ve set up a plan to enable me work actively towards it.

Right now, I’m going through heavy edits of my available works and researching on the different aspects that I have to consider before time. I’m also doing the second most important thing I can do for myself aside from working my ass off and that Is research, because a wise man once told me:

Common sense gets you Common results.

In the midst of all this I have to find a way not to neglect my postgraduate studies which I have to say is more demanding than my undergraduate was, to which I am utterly amazed and slightly annoyed.  So yes, after this post I’m Investing hours to write, I’m still going to be up for a further three reading and summarizing a journal article I have to present on monday morning. I should probably also mention that i’ve been on my desk, writing and researching since 12pm this afternoon. I did however go out at 6pm for a chinese dinner with some of my classmates, but I was back by eight and have been hard at work till now.

     

 

So yes there are different ways to swim and I am a firm believer in the impossible. I am also a firm believer in the price you have to pay to attain that impossible. So my question for you today is…

“Are you willing…”

You determine the rest.

Would absolutely love to hear from you in the comments session. Thanks for reading. Cheers.

I Refuse To Be A Prostitute

This post is for the dreamers and the believers. The optimists about to turn pessimists and the fighters about to throw in the towel. My advice for you is this; Ask yourself the question- Why did you ever think you could be a writer or travel down the creative path that has always promised to open a pandora’s box of petty frustrations and  brutal self doubt?

 I’d always had the answer to this question but it’d been pushed to the bottom of my heart- into a deep dark corner with its light that illuminates and forges the way shadowed- by the far more fleeting, delusive but heavier feeling of anguish. Anguish of hardwork seemingly wasted and dedication indubitably unproductive. Untill I came across this post which I highly suggest you all read: Link in the comments session. 👇

 It did a lot of things for me which I’m sure it will for you, but from all I felt and saw the one thing that it brought to light was the answer to this question. Why did I think I could be a writer?

because it is the one thing that I want to do.

Answer seems bland doesn’t it? But I can assure this was all I needed to be reminded of, and it  got me to jump out of bed and back to brushing the dust off my typewriter. It got me to renew my efforts with starlight oomph, because the plain truth is that, if I could choose anything in the world that I’d want to do it’ll be to write and be successful at it. To do that I’m willing to learn and to continue to do what ever it takes because to pursue any other because I’ve given up on this would be the greatest regret of my life. I know that as surely as I know that I can speak english. “Pun most definetly intended.”

Presently and in my postgraduate course at Lancaster University, job opportunities and careers in noble pursuits have been thrown at me like cash at a prostitute and I’ve been more than tempted to sway. To jump in for the ride and take what I can get instead of aiming and waiting for something else. Not something better- Something else. Something that I truly want which will guarantee a love that will take me through the turmoils and pleasures of life instead of a dash of short term gratification, guaranteed to eventually leave me empty and wanting for more.

This realization and the willingness to act on it is the one thing that doesn’t make me a prostitute and so I refuse to be swayed to settle. I can do almost everything, I thoroughly believe, but amongst all there Is one that I want above all to check among the list because it validates all others like ice cream to toppings. That is to write and be successful at it. So even though the mountains loom tall I choose to be dedicated as it is the true test of persistence, a quality that most definetely seperates the sheep from goats. So my question for you is what is that one thing that lights your candle? Be true to it and remeber, as Vince Lombardi so aptly put it

 Life’s battles don’t always go to the stronger or faster man but sooner or later the man who wins is the man who thinks he can.

                                 

New phase

Hi guys. Today I did an almost final edit of the first chapter of my YA romance and I’ve decided to share it here. I say almost because this could possibly be the ninth time I’ve gone through it and made multiple changes and I sincerely do not believe it will be the last. And yes, I took the advice in the last post about author Dean Koontz to heart. Hard work pays.

Right now I’m in Lancaster University for my post graduate studies and its a giant phase in a lot of ways but mostly because for the first  time ever, I’m completely on my own. My parents still call to check up on me almost every night and although I’m not surprised, it’s immensely appreciated. Those two will never completely let go. So now the entire responsibility on charting my course lies in my hands but lately I’ve been very limp with my grip on the shovel. That all changes today by a supernatural grace so once again I’ve put a deadline for the end of this edit and it will be at the end of this month. I’ll send out queries in between, and if by the end of this month I’ve still not heard anything I’ll start looking towards self publishing.

Anyway, enough rants and here is the first chapter of the novel I’ve entitle DAZED. It is the first book in a two book series about two bitter teenagers who meet in an English boarding school and discover love. Note: they don’t fall in it until the second book. Right now, it’s complete at 81,000 words but I suspect it’s going to be longer after this hopefully final edit. YIKES! Please forgive errors and alert me to them. I’ll still go over it again. Cheers!

CHAPTER ONE

I dreamt of nothing, and it was familiar.

Today was the second Monday of the spring term and it was freezing cold. We of course had a heater in the room but once again there was a widow open: cold wafts of air floated enthusiastically into the room and turned the thick blue duvet against me. One would think my body heat would have been enough to warm it but that was not the case; I shivered silently underneath the chilly covers and it showed exactly how cold the room was becoming. The heartbreaking part was that I was not surprised.

There were two windows in our room. They were placed at the extreme ends of the wall the headboard of my bed was positioned against and one of them was supposed to serve me. But as I pulled the duvet a little bit down from over my head I saw that the one on my immediate right was open and the curtains were taking delight in the incoming breeze. I chose not to be upset but couldn’t help the anger that made me feel even colder that I already did.

Just then the shrill of loud and offensive laughter broke out in the room and I forced myself to take a deep and painful breath. I forced my eyes open and soon moisture from the cold filled it and that was all it was. Moisture and not tears. Because if it was moisture it would help me believe that now, three years after the accident I was untouchable. But if I thought it as tears it would mean that both memory and cruelty could still bother me. How I felt was never taken into consideration because that part I could never get a hold of.

So no, I was not upset that my roommate Olivia Doyle had intentionally opened the windows to torment me on this already bleak morning or that her friends were around to enjoy the taunt but I was angry. I was angry that as usual the morning was bleak and I had to wake up to it.

I also suspected that my anger had something to do with my dreamless sleep. The nightmares had followed immediately after the accident and then thereafter, dreaming had altogether ceased. So that now, all I was left with was memories.

Memories of a time when I was happy and didn’t know that I shouldn’t have been and memories of the day it all came to an end. The memories made me darker as each day went by and I wished I could completely erase them because although I didn’t mind being dark I did absolutely hate being aware it. Indifference was a state I ached for but so far, it had expertly eluded me. I wanted to be completely dead and no not in the literal sense but just inside which was the only place I could make peace reign.

Today was one of those days I especially had to make an effort to get through and if I could without breaking down even once, I’d come back to bed and for the first time in a while, smile. Today signified the drastic end to a phase in my life and that was what I’d always see it as but unknown to me on this cold day in January, it would also mark the beginning of another one.  It was a phase that sometimes got me wishing for the then darkness I had so previously despised but one I didn’t realize would make such a profound impact in my life. What happened? I met a boy.

Like all teenagers this is a crucial point in our lives but this one changed mine because even though more often than not the act of falling in love is enough to add a little bit of turmoil to the existence of anyone, the person we fall in love with could determine if we stayed the same when it was all over or if we were forever changed.

I calmly pushed the duvet away and stood to my feet. I didn’t have to look at the short black clock that stood on my desk a few feet away from my bed to know that I was beyond late but that didn’t deter me-I had no choice. I didn’t bother to look at my roommate as I walked past but I did however notice that her and her cohorts were fully dressed. I pushed them all out of my mind and got ready as fast as I possibly could. It took me a few minutes, and soon I was running down the already deserted hallway and opening the door to my first floor classroom.

Mr. Walker had already arrived. Standing behind the wooden desk, he kept his head down as he retrieved papers from his shabby briefcase. I didn’t for a moment even kid myself enough to think that he didn’t hear me as I crept into the classroom but I did hope that he would ignore me. I should have known better.

“Nice of you to join us miss baker.” He said and I froze mid-creep.

‘Uh…” I started and slightly inclined my head to meet his gaze and as usual, he looked bored. A water bottle was raised to his lips and his eyes looked half closed as he stared down at me through wide-rimmed glasses.

“Why are you late again?” He asked and screwed the cap back on. Relaxing my stance, I sighed and wondered why he never deemed it fit to just leave me alone. Other teachers got that I wasn’t completely normal and they let me be, even flat out ignored me most times but this one never let up with the hassle. I didn’t even bother to lie.

“I woke up late.”

“Why did you wake up late?”

I lifted my yes to the ceiling and appeared to be in deep thought. “Because… shit happens?”

Low tone giggles erupted throughout the classroom and I returned my gaze to his. Although I hadn’t purposely dropped the gibe with the intent to amuse, the water bottle was now on the table and clouds had gathered on his face.

“Go sit you butt down!” he ordered and I immediately turned around to hurry to my seat. “Let it happen again and we’ll take a trip to the principal’s office.” He said and I widened my eyes for lack of a better response. It almost always happened and he’d still not come through on that promise. I suspected it was because he realized it as exactly what it was- a fruit of my apparent dislike for school- and was hoping that something would happen to produce a spark but I could almost guarantee that that would never happen. I consumed almost every novel I could get my hands on because it was a good means for escape but school was and would always be a no-no for me.

I settled in with a notebook open on my desk and he soon completely ignored me. Minutes later, I was almost falling asleep when a flash of white caught the corner of my eyes. I looked through the glass window to see egrets strewn across the courtyard: some were pecking away at the ground while the others just hung atop the wooden picnic tables. A particular one caught my eye and as I watched it, I felt the stir of unwelcome heat inside my chest.

It was something about the way it perched, balanced and with its neck outstretched, stance deathly still. Its milky white fumes were alluring and its statuesque pose almost intimidating, but it’s long, thin and naked legs dented its grandeur. To the world it appeared beautiful- weak but beautiful and as I watched I felt a complete connection to its imperfection. I’d been told over the years that I’d become too hard to be human but inside I knew how weak I really was. And with flash of real fear I wondered if I’d always remain that vulnerable. Right then I chose to relax and decided that my attitude today would determine all that, so more than ever, I looked forward to braving the day. It meant no thinking about today, three years ago and no reactions to anything whatsoever.

“Grace!” Mr. Walker barked out just then, dousing my reverie like water to a flame.  I turned an icy look in his direction that would have made any other teacher shiver but not him.  He kept his stance and even seemed to stand even taller.

“I suppose you’d very much like to join the egrets outside, wouldn’t you Miss Baker?” he suggested and I was almost amused. He somehow always made me remember that I was just an angry fifteen year old instead of the monster other teachers had marked me out to be. My answering smile told him all he needed to know, and as he chuckled in response, I was sure he comprehended, that with no apology whatsoever, I would have loved to.”