A Time To Say Good Bye

Spring is a time of rebirth and renewal,
To grow and spread our wings.
Soar high and far to find the jewel,
So we are able to sing.

Gone too soon to travel the flight,
Leaving us all behind.
Fly from here and from our sight,
Knowing you’ll be fine.

So today we are sad thinking of you,
Wondering where you are.
Till we meet again and see you,
We will find you not too far.

The Fool

Today is the day for fools,
A time for fun and pranks.
They stand high and proud upon the stool,
Where no one can give them spanks.

His folly and mischief he spreads around,
To the dismay of his guessing goal.
Mayhem rules the day abound,
The fool is in full roll.

So where does this fool go,
When his time has crept away?
All in fun with friend and foe,
For he will come another day.

I left my horse on the plain

and red tail waits for me to finish this business

little leopard lazily sleeps in the long rays of sunshine

wolf thinks he’s a coyote and lurks just out of sight

I am all alone – here in these high walls and rushing waters

everyone else

they died in the field

their ghosts long since dropped the sword and shield and now wonder aimlessly … sentries now of the past

guarding the way back

I hear their bones rattle on the ground

My wounds, taken in battle weep red salty tears

And I sit by the water waiting to be bound up

Waiting for the light of the moon and tomorrow the touch of the sun

Task #7 – Set up a Twitter Account and start Tweeting!

I know, some of you are thinking that I must be a dinosaur if I’m not on Twitter. Well, I’ll be honest and tell you that I have been intimidated. Not by the process necessarily, but more on the rationale of WHY you should tweet. I mean, what do I have to say that people what to hear?  

This is ironic since I am an author which means that I obviously believe I have a lot to say. But tweeting is hitting the high points in 140 characters or less, now THAT is intimidating.

So I set up my account, put my spanking new author photo on my profile page, changed my page design to match my website and then stopped. Took a breath, and clicked in the tweet box. The cursor blinked tauntingly at me as I contemplated what to say. Then I typed my first tweet, gulped and hit submit!

There you go. Task #7 – Set up a Twitter Account and start Tweeting! √ COMPLETED

If you have just started following my blog, check out my Project Plan page on my website and my posts this week to catch up with ‘GHF 2 PA’.

I’ll be talking to you soon, whether here or on Twitter.

As you may know, I enjoy writing and I am currently working on my first e-Book about breaking through the barriers of redundancy, to help people who are redundant to get back into work. It will also be useful to jobseekers.

On my writing blog http://www.quirkybooks.wordpress.com I have recently gained more followers and more recognition through being nominated for several blog awards. I was happy to make my nominations to other well deserving bloggers and was absolutely thrilled when one of then did a blog about myself, making references to my writing and my redundancy help.

You can view her blog post about me here:

Recognition for a nomination.

I am grateful that I am in a position to help others.

Stay positive

Sandra Bellamy

Well, let me just say, it’s going to be tough! I have already sent it to my known contacts, one in particular keeps ignoring me, not even a reply, and he’s supposed to be like an inside contact. I got positive feedback from a museum that is taking the time to read the screenplay, so at least that’s something. Today is my first day using the more conventional route of sending query letters. Not much better. I subscribed to imdb pro, and can I just say that there are so many production companies out there it’s crazy. In the end, it’s just a convoluted mess, and I managed to only send one query … not very efficient.

The problem with the Canadian Market are the resources – it’s complicated, no easy access, and honestly any promotional value is obscure, and plus I just learnt that if you want any kind of funding you have to be a production company, which is why I’m sort of thinking that’s what I want to do, mainly because I want to be part of the whole process. I want to have some independence, but the truth of the matters is that the writer if he’s lucky will sell his screenplay, and wait till it hits the silver screen like everybody else. If that’s not true, than like I said before there is no Canadian platform to help someone like me. Who knows, maybe that will become my mission in life, develop a platform for emerging artists that promote our Canadian culture. You know, create buzz like they have in the U.S.

Because I have so much I want to talk about I’m not sure where to start. So I’ll start with what I know, my script. The following is an excerpt you can also find on my website at http://www.kthennessy.com. More to come soon. So here we go!

A SHINER’S WAR

by

K.T Hennessy

Martin Sr. looks back as two large eyes peer from behind the
ghostly sheet.

Roy drops to his knees and falls face first to the ground, a
gaping chest wound leaching black blood.

Another CRACK echoes throughout the woods.

Martin Sr. staggers back as his knees buckle. He grabs hold
of a tree, but stumbles weak to the ground.

                    MARTIN SR. (V.O)
               (in Gaelic with subtitles.)

          Get up old man ... Get up!

He looks down, blood oozes out of his obliterated shoulder.
Black stains his trembling fingers.

                    MARTIN SR. (V.O)
          Fuck me! Katie ’ll be pissed.

Martin Sr. crawls away from the bloody massacre, and closer
to the northern edge and out of the woods.

EXT. THICKET - NIGHT

James turns Roy’s body over with his foot, and removes the
blackened sheet.

Roy’s vacant stare glares back at him.

James lifts his gaze from the dead body, and his eyes narrow
on the two servants that observe him closely.

                    JAMES
          Find that other motherfucker.  He

          won’t go far. I want his head on a
          spoke. You hear me?

The two servants nod, and quickly trek forward with their
dogs sniffing away.


More to follow.
Yours truly,
K

Reality (Photo credit: Beatnic)

Let’s talk about editing for a moment. You know, that thing new writers think is a slam dunk. Wham-bam thank you mam and look at my shiny, new book! I’ll be so great the first time around,  I’ll just do a quick spell check and be on my merry way, all the way to the bank – with my big, fat check. Move over Stephen King!

Ah…if only it were that simple. How lovely it would be.

Now back down to reality. Editing is a joy for some writers, but then there are the rest of us…the tired, weary-eyed writers who open their computers and reluctantly set out to edit. But that’s not to say it’s all bad.

When I started writing my first novel, I did a lot of reading up on the ol’ editing process. Yes, yes, that joyful middle ground we writers wade in for what feels like an eternity. I read some really great books on the subject, and I also read many forums where other writers shared their experiences. Some painted editing out to look like a writer’s purgatory, of sorts, and some jumped for joy at the opportunity to go back and edit. Before I even finished my book, I knew damn well that editing wasn’t going to be a fun roll in the hay. I knew it was going to be hard work, and a ton of it. I went in eyes wide open and totally aware of my lack of brilliance. I would need to edit, and edit I did.

Now for what I didn’t know: I didn’t know that editing wasn’t just editing. Sure, I thought it required going through your work with a fine-tooth comb, but what I didn’t realize was that editing is really re-writing. The reality that you’re going to re-write your entire book, over and over and over, kind of hits you like a sack of really big, really pissed off potatoes. That’s right, young people and new writers – editing means re-writing, and then, once you’ve re-written your novel to near perfection, whether that be 5 times or 15 – the simplistic editing comes in: spell checks and grammar checks.

Now, this might sound insane, I know it did to me at first, but there’s a reason for the madness. Yes sir-e-Bob. Writing your book several times isn’t something you do just to prove to the world, or yourself, that you’re willing to slave away for your art. Nope. It serves a valuable purpose. But if you just need a pat on the back for trying so hard, go ahead and ask someone to do that for you.

Let’s use my first novel as an example. It was over 700 pages long and consisted of 42 chapters. You do the math; that’s an average of 16 pages a chapter. Needless to say my book required massive amounts of editing, and guess what? I’m still editing the beast. It was when I finished it, when those blissful words were written: “The End” (actually, I didn’t really write “The End,” but just go with it – I’m trying to be dramatic here), that the amount of work still became clear. Sure, I had this novel that I loved and was proud of, but good God, if it wasn’t the most pitiful thing I’d ever seen. And that’s the most important thing to remember about editing: everyone’s first draft is horrible  Absolutely, stinking, horrible. No one is immune to it, and if you think you are, because you’re that one in a million writer, watch out, ’cause your book is probably the biggest stinker of them all. This profession requires humility, so remember not to get too big for your britches, as Ma and Pa would have told you.

Now for the really cool thing about editing: yeah, yeah, it’s a heavy load of work, and it’s not always easy to do, but something really amazing happens in the process. When you finish your first draft and put that sucker away for a while (I highly recommend doing that), you’ll later go back and read it straight through, and then the pissed off potatoes come out to play. Abusive buggers, they are. You read your novel and realize that it’s bad. Real, real bad. Then you beat yourself up for a while, eat mass quantities of processed garbage, tell yourself you’re a hack – do whatever you have to, and you will have to do something to ease the pain of reality. But after that, when you’ve come back down and get to work again, that, my dear readers, is when the clouds start to part and the silver lining appears. That’s when you find out that something very special happened to you in the process of writing your first (stinker) draft: you became a better writer. And while your first draft is painful to read, you dredge through it, and then you rewrite it. Every sentence you restructure and every word you replace is far better than the last. It’s amazing how much your writing will have improved between the time when you wrote page 1 and edited page 1.

I’m into the second re-write of my book, and while there are days when I just want to work on a new story, with new characters and new plots, I have to admit that I enjoy the simple act of fixing my work, of replacing poorly written material with new, better material. Every re-write I do will render a far better book, and I’ll be a far better writer for it.

So, for anyone out there who’s embarking on the editing journey: fear not, and don’t get discouraged. It’s a long, bumpy road, but it’s the best learning tool in the box. Nothing will improve your writing like editing will.

English: CMOS 16 cover image. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If you’re like me, you’ve read more books on writing and grammar than you can shake a stick at. While I adore my books, and I’ve yet to read a single one that hasn’t left me with at least one useful tidbit, I have found myself frustrated by the number of books I’ve had to accumulate to get a well-rounded source of information. And that’s not considering the internet and all it has to offer – of which I am a fan. But still – that’s a whole lot of books on my shelves, and a whole lot of bookmarked pages in my computer, so I was left asking the question: where can I find a one-stop-shop book for writers?

After much research, I think I’ve found my absolute favorite book. It’s not exciting, unless you’re like me and eat up grammar like a starved, rabid beast, but it offers a wealth of knowledge, and it’s simplistic enough for most readers.  Do be aware that this isn’t an instructional book on outlining,  plotting, character building, etc.  It’s a hefty manual for all those who work with words, and if you’ve ever found yourself debating the rules of grammar, this will finalize any questions you have.

It’s the Chicago Manual of Style: sixteenth edition.

 http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_9?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=chicago+manual+of+style&sprefix=chicago+m%2Caps%2C178

If you’re looking for that personal, one-on-one instruction, look elsewhere. But if you’re in need of a book that covers nearly every aspect of writing, look no further. Also, I’m not affiliated with this book in any way. I’m just a fan, and I’m a happier writer because of it. We’re all writers here, so why not help one another out?

The launch of beatredundancyblues.com has been greatly anticipated for some time and I am proud to announce that as of now, on Tuesday 26th of March 2013, beatredundancyblues.com is finally launched.

beatredundancyblues.com is a content rich site. It is a free resource of information, help and support for anyone who is:

• Redundant or about to be made redundant
• Job seeking
• Currently unemployed
• Wanting to change careers
• Lacking inspiration
• Needing motivation

beatredundancyblues.com includes:

• A free report – 10 Mistakes to Avoid whilst Applying For Work
• Access to job sites from within the one site
• Access to recruitment sites from within the one site
• Access to courses from within the one site
• Health and wellbeing
• Interview advice
• Motivation
• Inspiration
• Interview advice
• Time management
• Self-employment

beatredundancyblues.com is designed and built with you in mind, to help motivate and rejuvenate you back into work.

Please take time to browse the site and let me know what you think?

In the meantime, stay positive, Sandra Bellamy.

Tell me it’s not true, say it isn’t you
From childhood I watched
As age in its tender pace
Began to contour your face
Still I swore I would get to meet you
If only I wrote and wrote faster
My wish would come true!
But beyond day dreams conjured,
Life happened…
And as all things that come, they go
But even from death’s embers I know,
Your legacy shall eternally glow
And though now you thread a dead man’s path,
Things do not fall apart
Your words will always traverse my heart
As you remain for now and for always;
A man of the people.

Cuba.

6

1

Once home I wanted to feel some sort of hope. I wanted the little pills I was holding to solve my problem but something told me to expect the opposite. It could have been the voice echoing from my closet as I laid down or simply my mind attempting to flee the unknown. I had found that with every new thread added to my weaving experiences my brains first defense was to scare me away from them. But nothing seemed right, it felt as if every single thing had changed and been replaced with an imposter, that’s when my eyes closed.
2
After only minutes of viewing the black void my eyes tore open as a frigid breeze ambushed me. I was in my bedroom or at least it seemed like I was. My fan was slowly twirling above me, my neighbor was fighting with one of her lovers and the snow fell outside of my window, nothing seemed off. Then after accepting that I would not sleep I attempted to stand up which was when I realized nothing was what it seemed. My arms would not move, my legs tingled and my breathing slowed. Quickly the pins and needles stabbing my legs covered my entire body as I struggled to breath.
3
After minutes of silence in the bizarre scene that surrounded me I heard footsteps. I wanted to look in the sounds direction but I failed. Echoing from near my desk was a painful breathing, whoever was there could barely catch its breath. I tried to speak but only the first syllable of the word got out, it felt as if my breath was taken from me.
4
Soon whispers came from the wheezing thing that was out of sight. The footsteps stopped near me but nothing could be seen. I tried to say another word but failed.
5
Once I realized that speaking was out of the question I accepted the state I was in. Then from nowhere came a shadow, it approached me void of any features. It stared at me for several moments before laying a stack of papers on my chest. My eyes could barely move, they felt as if they were being forced to stare at that thing. It quickly leaned in close to my face and whispered “Alice wanted you to have this, she wrote it for you.”

7

1

The next morning freed me from that bizarre night. My apartment seemed different as if something took up residents with me. I convinced myself that this was just a feeling brought on by the night before; no proof had presented itself to state otherwise.
2
As I sat up I felt the stack of papers still on my chest. I grabbed them hoping that they weren’t real. The papers were a bright white and littered with words that looked like the work of a typewriter. Letters overlapped others while some were simply missing. I ran my finger across the paper to see how fresh those words were, the ink was dry, the words had been there awhile.
3
After minutes of hesitation I decided to read the papers that were given to me. I set down at my desk to begin reading something that a dream had given me.

A NEW MORNING

Up high above Clive the sun rose. He wiped the blood from his hands before he struggled to stand, but he quickly fell to the ground. The body of his brother cushioned his fall. Deep in his mind he knew he could never tell what went on that day. When he left for war Clive’s mother begged him to protect his brother during their fight. He told her that he would try his hardest but neither of them knew he’d actually be forced to fire at his brother’s men.

When Clive shot his gun his eyes blurred while his brother took the brunt of his attack. The bullet dug deep into his chest sending him to the ground. Around him the battle continued as if everyone’s mind forgot emotion. When Clive realized what he had done his emotions took over destroying any sense he had, he ran through the crowd of bullets for his brother. Cannons flew through the sky destroying trees while screams erupted from atop the hill. Clive stared at his brothers eyes as they closed. Death took him before his brain could register his brother as the killer.

Soon the battle was over; the green field was stained red. The few that were still living greeted the new morning. One stood with a smile cheering the words “We’ve won!” while one held his bleeding head. Blank eyes stared in various directions with legs twitching. A disheveled man vomited behind a tree in an attempt to hide the fear that crept up inside of him. Clive attempted to stand again but gave into his exhaustion. He fell to his brother’s side again.

The vomiting man stumbled to Clive trying to register the events he had just lived through. Clive covered his brother’s face with a dirty coat that laid near them.

“I killed a man captain, do you get used to that?” Clive looked down at his brothers still body.

“Drink some water and wash that face of yours. Gather the others, we need to keep going.” Clive said in a strange tone.

“Ok.” The vomiting man walked away.

***

A spider slowly crawled across the table. Its twisted leg interested Clive as he watched it struggle to walk. He raised a glass to his mouth while he looked down at his scribbled writing. The alcohol flowed through his body causing a quick tingling sensation.

“Sitting there like that’s gonna bring back the dead.” The Unknown man said from his dark corner.

“I never claimed that it would, nothing brings back what aint breathing.” Clive said before downing the rest of his glass.

“The way you’re drinking you’ll be joining them soon. But I’ve seen men like you come and go so often my eyes could bleed. You’re looking like you want to join the dead.” The Unknown man said while crossing his legs.

“You’re a talker and talkers like to hear their own voice.” Clive turned to look at the strange man shrouded in shadows.

“Sure.” The Unknown man said with a grin.

“But I aint a listener so all the shit you’re sayin is going in one ear and out the other. Do both of us a favor and find a nice tree to shout at.” Clive raised his hand for another drink.

“You’re a funny man captain but you are much more interesting than a tree. Tree’s don’t drink themselves into a slumber, tree’s don’t get offended by words and trees don’t cry themselves to sleep.” A man handed Clive another drink while the Unknown man rolled a cigarette. “And trees don’t waste money on a substance that can come from the sky.”

“When it starts raining beer then I’ll stop buying it.” Clive took a sip of his drink before he spat it out. Clive see’s that he had been given water.

“Try some water soldier, you’ve had enough liquor.” The Unknown man blew smoke into the air.

“Have you ever had to write a letter to a family telling them that their son isn’t coming home?” Clive said in an offended tone.

“Yes, and drinking just jumbled it, take your time. If the mother will weep she will but give her a clear reason to do so. Keep your words in a straight line not the scribble you are producing right now.”

“I lost too many today, a random attack-they took everyone.” Clive threw his glass against the wall shattering it. A woman gasped in surprise.

“You’ve got it so hard don’t you captain? This poor war is going to suffer from a lost battle. Those men were going to take those bullets here or there, heads or chests, the more you shoot the higher the chance you have of getting shot. Friends die, people die, you will die, and you were born to die so embrace that gift. What about the men who you left on that field with their legs blown to bits and their arms thrown into the woods? I bet death looked great for them but did you grant them that or did you watch them as they struggled? Did you attempt to mend their wounds with that moral compass you cling so tight to, telling you that death is never the answer? Have you ever met the man who wanted to die? Did he smile as you passed him by? Did you smile back as you carried that little compass with you saying ‘This man must die, this man must live’ you’re filled with blood so let it spill.”

Clive looked down as tears built up within his eyes. Images of his brother at various stages of his life flashed before his eyes. The Unknown man stood up to lurk close to Clive, he had no comfort to give him and Clive knew this.

“There’s a poem that my dad told me when I was a kid. ‘When the eyes go black-They aren’t coming back-When your eyes glow-Let the people know.’ Get it captain?” The Unknown man said while his hand rested on the back of Clive’s chair.

“No.” Clive said hiding his sorrow.

“Take a look in the mirror. Do your eyes glow, or are they black?” Clive looked up at the Unknown man in wonder.

4
What had that shadow given me? Who was Alice? What did those papers mean?

the space says rest gather shelter prepare cry focus take a breath notice everything

foot gently on each rock …

…… caressing her with my feet I slowly step…

she sings into my ears with her rushing waters …

…slowly… I lay down on my belly placing my ear on her- listening to the rhythm the heartbeat

Thank’s, mommy, for the extra appley chocolate milk.

Anyway, it’s cold out today so we’ve just sort of been festering in our own germs. The only time Liam was remotely happy today was when he and Ivy took a bath.  Unfortunately, he decided to push the bathtub over sooooooo Ivy wasn’t so happy.  Funny thing about toddlers, they’re assholes sometimes.  Through no fault of their own.  We all were pretty hellacious to our parents when we were that age.  It’s just a phase.   Thank [insert deity here] that this illness will pass, just like the Scream At The Top of My Lungs Phase and the Total Ambivalence To Eating Food Phase passed.  Tomorrow, I’m going to hug my mother and thank her for always being there when I was sick.  I don’t care if she rears back in terror at my plague symptoms.  She’s my mommy and I get to hug her when I want.

English: Diagram of a Manual gear layout (4-speed). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have you ever started and finished a project without realizing how hard it was meant to be? Maybe you did a fantastic job, or at least got the job done, but when it came time for a subsequent attempt at the same activity, you did poorly, because, in the interim, you realized that the activity (whatever it might be) was meant to be damn difficult to begin with.

When I was 15 years old, I was taken into a large parking lot to learn how to drive a manual transmission. I’d never driven a stick-shift, but being the confident teenager I was, I didn’t walk (or drive) into the situation with preconceived notions regarding the difficulty of maneuvering a stick shift. When we’re that age, we think we can do anything, and while we were usually wrong, I sure wasn’t…at least not that night.

I got behind the wheel, with my parent was fastened in next to me. I kept hearing this term: “popping the clutch.” Over and over, “Don’t pop the clutch.” “Now, you’re going to pop the clutch, so don’t get scared when you do, but try not to pop it.” “Just don’t pop the clutch.” I had no idea what this meant, and I didn’t pay much attention to it, either. Being clueless really helped, because I didn’t know how hard it was supposed to be. I listened to everything else, though: how to change gears, how and when to step on the pedals, and within minutes, I was driving that stick shift like a pro. I never popped the clutch; everything felt very natural. The evening went on and I continued to drive flawlessly, but unfortunately my parent wasn’t very pleased with the situation. Apparently I was supposed to pop the clutch. I had to pop the clutch, so I would know what it felt like. This made no sense to me, but hey, who was I to question the clutch?

My parent had me come to a stop, and that’s when I was instructed to pop the clutch. Still having no idea what that meant, or how to make it happen, I had to ask. To make a very long story short, I did as I was told and popped the clutch. Our necks went lurching forward; a one-person game of bumper cars. Can you guess what happened next? Well, I’ll tell you – I couldn’t stop popping the damn clutch. Every attempt at changing gears failed, and the rest of the evening was dedicated to giving everyone in the car a mild case of whiplash.

To this day, 16 years later, and after several more failed attempts at mastering a manual, I can’t drive a stick. I pop the damn clutch every single damn time. Needless to say I was a little resentful about being made to perform poorly when I had been doing so well. It’s a bit like teaching your slugger of a son to hit pisser ground-balls  when he keeps nailing homers out of the park. That night, so long ago,  had I been allowed to do well, and to get comfortable with a stick-shift, I may have thought nothing of popping the clutch, whenever that time came – by happenstance.

Now, what does this have to do with writing? I think it’s got everything to do with writing. And here’s why…

When I first started out with the idea of writing a novel, I had a very basic idea in my head: I wanted to be a writer. I was a lover of books and a very creative person, but that’s all I had: an idea, a passionate love for writing, and wishful thinking.

It took a while for my story to come to me. You know, the nuts and bolts. And as cheesy as it may sound, it was while on the cusp of sleep that it hit me. BAM! WHAMMO! There it was, and it hadn’t taken months and months – just weeks. Next was the outlining process. I fleshed everything out: characters, locations, characteristics, personal backgrounds, historical aspects, etc., etc., etc. Then came fleshing out the plot. I spent months and months creating an outline, detailing each chapter segment as much as possible. I guess you could say I had the entire story written before I ever opened my computer. Then came show time. I wrote the damn thing – all of it – in its entirety. That part took me two years. Yes, that’s right…two whole years. But if I’m being honest, I have several other responsibilities, and I was never in a position to write all day, every day.

Having said all that, I finished my book. I wrote a 240,000 word honker. It took a lot of time, a lot of work, and a lot of dedication, but in the end, I finished it. What a magnificent feeling that was! Now I’m in the editing phase. Yes-yes, that odd middle ground, where you’ve completed your book only to realize how far you are from actual completion. It’s a bitch.

Before I get ahead of myself, let me back up a bit. When I set out on this journey, I didn’t just pull out my quill & parchment and go to town. Nope. I read and studied and read and studied, and when I was done with that, I read some more. I bought and read so many books on writing that I acquired quite the library, and that’s not including my novels. I also spent so much time online researching, educating myself, and freshening up on what I had forgotten that I’m still surprised when I find a new site I’ve never read. In all that time that I read and studied and wrote my heart out, there’s one thing I didn’t do. I didn’t take the time to read the plethora of sites and books that tell you how difficult it is to write a book. I don’t mean how difficult it is to get published, because that’s a well-known fact, and I certainly read a ton about that. I mean all those sites and books that drive home how astoundingly difficult it is to simply open a computer and write – to be creative. I kept my mind out of the negative zone as much as possible, because I’m an absolute realist. I knew what a pipe dream it was (and is) to get published, and at times, I barely mustered up the courage to keep writing, because I understood how narrow the chance of success were, and are. Like I said, though, I didn’t read all the sites dedicated to how difficult the writing and outlining process is, and how most of us can’t hack even that. I couldn’t risk the discouragement. 

So, I wrote my book, armed with the knowledge that publication is highly unlikely, but still I wrote, and I filtered everything else out. It wasn’t until I was through the first draft of my book that I found myself open to reading the rest of the discouraging information out there, and thank God I waited. I can tell you right now that if I had read all that stuff before attempting to write, the entire process would have been much scarier. See, that’s the thing: never was I scared – just doubtful of my abilities. But I wasn’t weighed down with the same doubts and fears that plague some writers.

The whole point is: I didn’t know how hard what I was doing was supposed to be. Was it hard? Absolutely. But was it impossible? Absolutely not. Most importantly, I got to find out on my own that this process is a very time consuming, all encompassing task, and it must be a calling you’re passionate about, but I didn’t go in with shaky knees and sweaty palms. Had I been saddled with such words of discouragement before ever writing, those discouraging words might have been my writing clutch. My, you never let me spread my wings and try before knocking me down, clutch. As people say, ignorance is bliss, and so is setting out on your dream without everyone in the white pages telling you how impossibly difficult each step is. And let’s face it, it’s not like all us writers don’t end up in the same boat. We all realize how hard this gig is, we all find ourselves discouraged, but does driving home how hard it is produce better writers? Does being discouraged before you give something a shot increase your likelihood of success? NO and NO! Just imagine if thousands of people had told Vincent van Gogh how impossible painting was, and how most people can’t master it. Clearly he had a stroke of low self-esteem.

The most ridiculous thing about the boring stick-shift story is why things wound up the way they did. A few years after that night, I was teasing my parent about my inability to drive a stick, and I was finally told why I was made to pop the clutch. It wasn’t a very good reason. Come to find out, poppin’ the ol’ clutch had been a particularly nasty habit for my parent, and it took years to conquer this. When, at 15 years old, I was able to handle the stick shift without encountering the same problems, my parent thought it was necessary to point out a potential hiccup that, in reality, was their problem – not mine. Pretty silly thinking, eh?

So, moral of the story is: if your deepest desire is to write a book, or to pursue any other difficult calling, try not to focus on how incredibly arduous everyone says it is, because you never know if you will encounter the same troubles as everyone else. Trust me, you’ll encounter troubles on your own, so why walk into any situation with the preconceived notion that what’s hard for others will be just as hard for you? Yes, have respect for the undertaking, but dive in head first, outline to kingdom come, write your heart out, and when it’s all said and done, you’ll know where you excelled and where you fell short, but it won’t be because you were programmed.

I wrote a novel and one that I’m proud of. It wasn’t, and still isn’t, perfect,  because perfection is unattainable, but I did something that many people talk about doing but never actually do, because it’s hard, and everyone says it’s impossible. Maybe you’ve written one, too, and if you have, I applaud you. Way to go! Awesome! I think my secret was that I wasn’t aware of how hard it was supposed to be, or what an impossible task I was taking on. I didn’t pop the clutch on my writing, and I surrounded myself with people who said, “Hell yes, you can write a book. That’s amazing! Now get to work.” No one told me I couldn’t do it, and no one told me how many ways I could fail before I even started. 

Don’t pop the damn clutch on anything in life.

Don’t pop the damn clutch on your writing.

Don’t pop the damn clutch.

Emily Barroso

In your own words
I’m a believer (as in a follower of JC. I don’t think the term ‘Christian’ is a tenable one anymore, given what it has come to mean in society today), wife, Mum of 3 (almost 4), writer and artist (occasional paintings and sculptures). I like to laugh and am quite silly and childish despite my advanced age.

Tell us about your experience at It’s your time to flourish?
I have found ‘It’s your time to flourish’ consistently inspiring. Cynthia’s endless encouragement, ideas and creativity have provided a valuable platform from which we can all bat ideas and encourage and inspire one another.
I always leave the meetings buzzing with encouragement and new or developed ideas and feeling uplifted by the support generated through Cynthia’s thoughtful leadership and by the women in the room, who are all kind, supportive, talented and amazing.

What’s your favourite bible verse?
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” (Proverbs 3 v5 -6). It reminds me not to worry, particularly when I remember how he has directed me in the past, whilst engaging my faith in the mystery of God and the faith element involved.

Emily at reading at Waterstone’s.

What does the next six months hold for you?
I will be having my fourth baby, passing my driving test and finishing my second novel “Big Men’s Boots”. And blogging away of course.

What are you reading at the moment?
“Travelling light” by Trove Jansson.

What music are you listening to at the moment?
The Horrors! I just can’t get away from those guitar bands. Early ’70’s through ‘90’s conditioning. I’m also listening to Fono and All Star United.

After the rains

I want to tell you about…
After the rains, my first novel, has been described as:

“A great novel and well worth reading. Barosso explores relationships between black and white, right and wrong, and the reader is left with a grey area called life and the fact that ‘It’s all vanity, it’s all an illusion, everything except that infinite sky’ (Tolstoy)”
– Lindsay Jardine, The South African

You can buy it here: http://www.emilybarosso.com/shop
I give a quarter of the proceeds to a Zimbabwean street kids charity, see my website for details. My second book, which will hopefully appear before long is called “Big Men’s Boots” and is a novel about a man’s journey away from faith and back again. It also explores prophetic gifting.

Which song celebrates you as a woman?
Natural Woman by Carole King Because my husband makes me feel like a natural woman, in that I can just be myself, in the raw in every sense! I can be as childish as I like and look as rough as I like and he still loves me! He’s the best, and this is a reminder to me.

For more information about Emily go to:
http://www.emilybarroso.com
Read her blog at:wwww.blog.emilybarroso.comFollow her on Twitter
‘Like’ her Facebook page

21/3/2013 – I am delighted to announce that Emily’s fourth child, baby Ezra, arrived early this morning. Both mother and baby are doing well.

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