There you have it. More proof that the best stories are not made up, but tells themselves to the writer, who scribbles it down. Thinking of my novel last night, in a slightly panicky way seeing I hadn't written anything all day, suddenly I knew the answers. Knew how to fill those two little plot holes that had so irritatingly occurred, blocking all my further writing.
Amazing, aint it? How sometimes when you just think about things late at night, it's like the solution just pops right out to you, and it feels right, like it's the answer that's been there all along, just without you realizing.
I wanna throw myself over writing... And I think, after this post and a bit of something to eat, I will.
Luckily for me, the auction I'm trying to win on the net (I'm bidding for a train ticket to Stockholm) hasn't quite worked with me, and I've had to start bidding on a later departure. Good, cause I aint packed nothing at all yet, and besides, it might mean I'll get some time to write.
Dad's gonna be here in forty minutes, I suppose what I really should be doing is dressing and fixing myself up. But I just had to slip by.
Glad to say I'm waltzing off to novel-land. See you on the other side.
LOVE, THE PONDERER POET
Wednesday, February 27
Tuesday, February 26
Conditions (I Don't Mind)
Did you ever ask me?
No, you never asked me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to ask me
Did you ever let me?
Yeah, you always let me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to let me
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Did you ever fall down?
No, you never fell down
cause I was always there to catch you
before you fell down
And did you ever break down?
No, you never broke down
cause I was there to console you
before you broke down
Every time around
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
No, you never asked me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to ask me
Did you ever let me?
Yeah, you always let me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to let me
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Did you ever fall down?
No, you never fell down
cause I was always there to catch you
before you fell down
And did you ever break down?
No, you never broke down
cause I was there to console you
before you broke down
Every time around
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Imagery
Got my critique back pretty recently, a few days back, and it's high time to share.
Geez, first of all, gotta tell ya I never thought it'd come out that positive. You know, I was thinking it would just be a load of hints and tips or even remarks on stuff that I'd gotten wrong, but do you believe it? There weren't that many of those! Those that were "remarks" or whatever, were more like tips, in all, it was like, splendid reading. Has to be my best investment, ever. One of the tips she gave me, the critic, was hand in hand with something she thought I was good at, and still it was one of the best writing tips I've ever received. I'm definitely gonna think about it while I finish the rest of the story.
Just for my ego's sake, as much as for your curiosity, I'll go over a few things she brought up. For example, my title is "catchy" and she was "impressed with this choice of title" which by the way "conveys the information in the manuscript". My opening sentences are "powerful" and makes "an excellent beginning". My dialogue is "nice work" and "sounds natural and appropriate to (my) characters". And here's a thought, for me who figured I'd get a lot of remarks on punctuation and stuff: "Your grammar, spelling, and punctuation are all quite satisfactory. Congratulations!" Well, I'm not saying I didn't get any remarks on this, but it just isn't fun for any of us should I tell you my misspellings. All these remarks, however, barely even filled one page. That's pretty good for a 100 page manuscript, right? If all the mistakes in it barely fills an A4 in Word? Well, I sure think so. Other than this, she carried on to tell me about how a standard manuscript is often required to look like, what margins there should be, and chapters beginning on new pages, and that there should be a header on each page with the author's last name and the title of the novel. Really good tips, I'm glad I got them; soon as the story is underway I'll go through the process of fixing it up like this.
So, very positive this far in the critique, but there's more to come. Here're the sentences that just blew me away:
"I feel that no illustrations are needed for this adult fiction manuscript. The text provides a clear image of characters, settings and events. Nice work. The imagery is fantastic."
And here follows her conclusion:
"I believe you can turn this into a marketable story. It has all of the necessary elements: good characterization; interesting (and well-described) settings; and authentic-sounding dialogue. This is an interesting piece of work and I can see it becoming great. The characters are strong and I like the plot. I am impressed so far. I sincerely wish you luck with this endeavor."
Even now, when I've read these words more than a million times, it almost brings tears to my eyes. Finally, it feels as if all my writing through all these years is finally going to pay off. It simply means so much that someone who doesn't even know me as a person, someone who simply has read the text, but whose job it is to evaluate texts; has graded it this good. I can't even explain it. I feel as if I've won a big trophy or something, like I wanna go out and shout and just celebrate...! And suddenly all I wanna do is throw my schoolbooks out the bloody window and get started again. I have so much to write, so much to give. And I know that if I sit down now, without planning anything, but just throwing myself into the writing, it'll be like back in Nano. The most spontaneous bits are amazingly, the ones that are the best, those I've struggled to scribble down is like a spit in the sea in comparison. But in any case, a certain critic somewhere out there thinks my imagery is fantastic, so it can't totally suck even in those bits of it.
One of the best parts about this whole thing is that both the critic and my agent (cause I've finally been assigned one of my own! No more automated emails!) agrees with me in that I'll be able to do my own editing based on the critique. Some of the authors the agency embraces have to spend loads of time revising it along with a professional editor, which, to be honest, costs a lot of money. When i got the email from my agent, she said I could choose myself whether I wanted to do it on my own or go through the manuscript with an editor, and when I told her I wanted to finish the story off before editing it, she agreed with me. And then went on to saying that it would probably be fine in my case that I edited it myself. (Note: having done a professional edit gives you slightly more credit in the marketing process, but does not give you any guarantees. I read a reject letter on a script that hadn't been edited this way but it was really crap. Full stops missing and stuff. I've always had a good eye for those kind of things so I think if I go through it very slowly I'll find most my errors myself. Then there were some spelling stuff the critic remarked on, that they're spelled differently in like, the UK and the US, and I'll have to alter them by looking at her list. Gotta be consistent. Though not that easy for someone not native.)
Right. If I wanna get anything done I better leave you at this. Phew, feels good to get it out of me.
SiNCERELY, POET iN THE jAR
Ps. Can't help but almost shiver all over. "Fantastic imagery"... I'll be able to live on this for months. And finally, no more nervousness. DS.
Ps, 2. I had no idea it was "adult fiction" that I was writing. Guess I never really gave it any thought. Still, it somehow satisfies me to know that she wouldn't like, say it was a children's book or something. Haha. Ds, 2.
Ps, 3. And I mean, seriously? I impressed a critic! I never saw that coming! How do you impress a critic? Geez... I should start having more faith in myself! Ds, 3.
Geez, first of all, gotta tell ya I never thought it'd come out that positive. You know, I was thinking it would just be a load of hints and tips or even remarks on stuff that I'd gotten wrong, but do you believe it? There weren't that many of those! Those that were "remarks" or whatever, were more like tips, in all, it was like, splendid reading. Has to be my best investment, ever. One of the tips she gave me, the critic, was hand in hand with something she thought I was good at, and still it was one of the best writing tips I've ever received. I'm definitely gonna think about it while I finish the rest of the story.
Just for my ego's sake, as much as for your curiosity, I'll go over a few things she brought up. For example, my title is "catchy" and she was "impressed with this choice of title" which by the way "conveys the information in the manuscript". My opening sentences are "powerful" and makes "an excellent beginning". My dialogue is "nice work" and "sounds natural and appropriate to (my) characters". And here's a thought, for me who figured I'd get a lot of remarks on punctuation and stuff: "Your grammar, spelling, and punctuation are all quite satisfactory. Congratulations!" Well, I'm not saying I didn't get any remarks on this, but it just isn't fun for any of us should I tell you my misspellings. All these remarks, however, barely even filled one page. That's pretty good for a 100 page manuscript, right? If all the mistakes in it barely fills an A4 in Word? Well, I sure think so. Other than this, she carried on to tell me about how a standard manuscript is often required to look like, what margins there should be, and chapters beginning on new pages, and that there should be a header on each page with the author's last name and the title of the novel. Really good tips, I'm glad I got them; soon as the story is underway I'll go through the process of fixing it up like this.
So, very positive this far in the critique, but there's more to come. Here're the sentences that just blew me away:
"I feel that no illustrations are needed for this adult fiction manuscript. The text provides a clear image of characters, settings and events. Nice work. The imagery is fantastic."
And here follows her conclusion:
"I believe you can turn this into a marketable story. It has all of the necessary elements: good characterization; interesting (and well-described) settings; and authentic-sounding dialogue. This is an interesting piece of work and I can see it becoming great. The characters are strong and I like the plot. I am impressed so far. I sincerely wish you luck with this endeavor."
Even now, when I've read these words more than a million times, it almost brings tears to my eyes. Finally, it feels as if all my writing through all these years is finally going to pay off. It simply means so much that someone who doesn't even know me as a person, someone who simply has read the text, but whose job it is to evaluate texts; has graded it this good. I can't even explain it. I feel as if I've won a big trophy or something, like I wanna go out and shout and just celebrate...! And suddenly all I wanna do is throw my schoolbooks out the bloody window and get started again. I have so much to write, so much to give. And I know that if I sit down now, without planning anything, but just throwing myself into the writing, it'll be like back in Nano. The most spontaneous bits are amazingly, the ones that are the best, those I've struggled to scribble down is like a spit in the sea in comparison. But in any case, a certain critic somewhere out there thinks my imagery is fantastic, so it can't totally suck even in those bits of it.
One of the best parts about this whole thing is that both the critic and my agent (cause I've finally been assigned one of my own! No more automated emails!) agrees with me in that I'll be able to do my own editing based on the critique. Some of the authors the agency embraces have to spend loads of time revising it along with a professional editor, which, to be honest, costs a lot of money. When i got the email from my agent, she said I could choose myself whether I wanted to do it on my own or go through the manuscript with an editor, and when I told her I wanted to finish the story off before editing it, she agreed with me. And then went on to saying that it would probably be fine in my case that I edited it myself. (Note: having done a professional edit gives you slightly more credit in the marketing process, but does not give you any guarantees. I read a reject letter on a script that hadn't been edited this way but it was really crap. Full stops missing and stuff. I've always had a good eye for those kind of things so I think if I go through it very slowly I'll find most my errors myself. Then there were some spelling stuff the critic remarked on, that they're spelled differently in like, the UK and the US, and I'll have to alter them by looking at her list. Gotta be consistent. Though not that easy for someone not native.)
Right. If I wanna get anything done I better leave you at this. Phew, feels good to get it out of me.
SiNCERELY, POET iN THE jAR
Ps. Can't help but almost shiver all over. "Fantastic imagery"... I'll be able to live on this for months. And finally, no more nervousness. DS.
Ps, 2. I had no idea it was "adult fiction" that I was writing. Guess I never really gave it any thought. Still, it somehow satisfies me to know that she wouldn't like, say it was a children's book or something. Haha. Ds, 2.
Ps, 3. And I mean, seriously? I impressed a critic! I never saw that coming! How do you impress a critic? Geez... I should start having more faith in myself! Ds, 3.
Wednesday, February 20
Second Promo Pic -08
Hey fellas!
Playing around in Photoshop yesterday resulted in a new promo pic (already sick of the last one). Let me know what you think, and feel free to pass it on.
Thanks!
Warm Greetings from THE POET
Tuesday, February 19
World's Longest P.S.
I'm writing again, writing away, and it's glorious. It's about believing in prose, in a way, believing in the imaginary world a novel presents, both while stepping into it, observing, and putting it in print, and while exploring it in reading.
There was this school book, quite dull, that I've been trying to force my way through lately. Novel, of course; but that's not the point, since the novel in question pretty much failed to arouse my interest most of the way through... but there was this part of it, following a writer, that really appealed to me. This writer, he's like, seen the best years of his life and has given up on writing fiction in order to land a better paid job writing some famous family's chronicles. And he goes to see his old publisher, the fiction one, and what follows is the most extraordinary conversation on the topic of the novel.
Now we're starting to get closer to my point.
See, they talk about fiction, about the novel, how it represents something as old as mysterious as life itself. How writing fiction is to be naive, although at the same time you can fit into it shades of the most unpleasant reality. How the novel is the ultimate art form, the ultimate fantasy world, the ultimate amusement given to man, once acquainted to the phenomenon of reading. The phenomenon of words.
It might have been this, it might have been something else, but it doesn't matter. As long as it fuels my writing it might as well be anything.
P.S. I've got fever for the last two days, resulting in me having the most peculiar, and nasty dreams. Nightmares. Last night, or morning, or whatever to call it, I had the most strange dream in which I entered a very, very old and small house, hanging from the cliff of a mountain, reaching out over the wild and untamed sea. And in that house, there were two, just as old, creaking doors, out of which the right one swung open as I approached. Inside was a hatch in the floor, and shelves all over the room containing various diving equipment... I got into a diving suit and the hatch sort of, took off, lowering us down towards the surface of the sea, being torn by the heavy winds on our way down. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly, we were thousands, and I mean thousands, of meters down in the sea, and everything was so dark, so incredibly, unbelievably dark. Below me, in a sort of, research station, my diving companion (who took the face of my old high school friend) was tearing through the remains of a dark ship, a sunken ship, a room in it, that is. And she handed me two pairs of shoes, a pair of black ones, and a pair of purple ones. Feeling cold, and a bit intimidated by the dark, I signalled that I wanted to go up, and she just waved at me, impatiently, suggesting she'd stay behind for a while, but that I could go on up if I wanted to. I looked out the windows, into the depths, into the massive, enormous wall of water separating me from the safety of the land above. And I saw something move.
Something larger than what is even perceivable by man, was moving past the station, with incredible speed and agility for its size. As it got closer, I realized what it was, an underwater monster, like an eel, gigantic, and hunting, and it had spotted me.
Desperately I tried to tell my companion about it, and I think I actually did, that in some way we could talk to eachother, even though we were wearing these diving suits and barely being able to breathe by the pressure and weight by the water as it was. She told me back, that she knew about that, but as long as I timed my departure allright, it would be fine.
And so I went outside, left the station, trying to make myself invisible, even with my lantern steadily clutched in my hand. As the monster approached me, glowing eyes fixed on me, and enormous jaws opening, readying itself to swallow me, I knew it was the lantern that drew it closer, but if I threw it away I would never find my way back up to the surface, or down to the station, again, and I would drown out there anyway when my oxygen ran out. So I clung on to the lantern, even as the giant eel opened its jaws and I was absorbed by the foul darkness inside the creature's mouth.
Over.
It was over.
But wait.
Wasn't there a streak of light somewhere ahead of me?
I tried to breathe calmly, saving my precious oxygen reserves. In my panic, my body and its survival instincts seemed to have acted while my mind had blocked down. I was hanging inside the creature, one hand grabbing some sort of unidentifiable part of it that was dangling on the inside of its, what to call it, cheeks, or whatever. And the light ahead of me was nothing else than the light of the station, vaguely sippering through the slowly opening jaws of the monster. It was about to swallow something else, and not knowing when another chance would come, I pushed off as hard as I could against the wall-like cheek, using all my power and energy to kick and swim my way closer to my exit point, the opening mouth.
I slipped out, just in time before the jaws shut close again, on some other victim of its hunting streak, but only for it to spot me escape.
It was far from over.
Bouncing and kicking my way downwards along its body, in a sort of Super Mario kind of way, I managed to make it dive after me, plunging downwards into the depths, closer to the station, saving me the long stretch I could never have gotten by myself.
Almost there.
I threw myself inside the hatch in the exact last minute, with the very last of my energy, my body screaming of pain and exhaustion as the adrenaline made my veins throb so badly I could hardly see my hand in front of me. The monster didn't give up, banging on the windows the hardest it could, and I knew we would have to get out before it smashed the glass.
Finally, she would listen to me, and somehow, this time, we were dragged upwards in the blink of an eye by rescue workers pulling us up.
This is the worst part.
Once up on dry land, panting of the exhaustion and of the panic, and of the gratefulness to have gotten out, I realize that she's not with me. That she is still down there, and out of some strange reason, so is my father, having replaced my spot down there with his own.
It takes them hours to pull them up.
I can't for the life of me understand what takes them so long this time, when they could pull me up so quickly...
I wait, wandering around the old creaking house, discovering an old and half rotten bathtub, along with the most wondrous little room, full of the most beautiful little pieces of rainbow-coloured furniture.
Finally, after a lot of anxiety and fear, they get them up, and they're both okay.
I wake up, sweating from fever and from the nightmare, and then fall asleep again almost right away, my fever making me drift in and out of shallow sleep. The dream goes on with me stating, I will never set my foot anywhere near an ocean ever again, not in my life. And one of the rescuers tells me, "Don't worry. There's another room." And this time, it's the left of the two doors. And as the door slams shut behind me, I see that it's exactly the same as the other room, in every little detail, and someone says, "Don't be sad all your things got messed up. We've managed to restore it all again for you to dive some more."
And the dream repeats.
Worst nightmare, ever, all categories. Laugh if you will.
DS.
There was this school book, quite dull, that I've been trying to force my way through lately. Novel, of course; but that's not the point, since the novel in question pretty much failed to arouse my interest most of the way through... but there was this part of it, following a writer, that really appealed to me. This writer, he's like, seen the best years of his life and has given up on writing fiction in order to land a better paid job writing some famous family's chronicles. And he goes to see his old publisher, the fiction one, and what follows is the most extraordinary conversation on the topic of the novel.
Now we're starting to get closer to my point.
See, they talk about fiction, about the novel, how it represents something as old as mysterious as life itself. How writing fiction is to be naive, although at the same time you can fit into it shades of the most unpleasant reality. How the novel is the ultimate art form, the ultimate fantasy world, the ultimate amusement given to man, once acquainted to the phenomenon of reading. The phenomenon of words.
It might have been this, it might have been something else, but it doesn't matter. As long as it fuels my writing it might as well be anything.
P.S. I've got fever for the last two days, resulting in me having the most peculiar, and nasty dreams. Nightmares. Last night, or morning, or whatever to call it, I had the most strange dream in which I entered a very, very old and small house, hanging from the cliff of a mountain, reaching out over the wild and untamed sea. And in that house, there were two, just as old, creaking doors, out of which the right one swung open as I approached. Inside was a hatch in the floor, and shelves all over the room containing various diving equipment... I got into a diving suit and the hatch sort of, took off, lowering us down towards the surface of the sea, being torn by the heavy winds on our way down. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly, we were thousands, and I mean thousands, of meters down in the sea, and everything was so dark, so incredibly, unbelievably dark. Below me, in a sort of, research station, my diving companion (who took the face of my old high school friend) was tearing through the remains of a dark ship, a sunken ship, a room in it, that is. And she handed me two pairs of shoes, a pair of black ones, and a pair of purple ones. Feeling cold, and a bit intimidated by the dark, I signalled that I wanted to go up, and she just waved at me, impatiently, suggesting she'd stay behind for a while, but that I could go on up if I wanted to. I looked out the windows, into the depths, into the massive, enormous wall of water separating me from the safety of the land above. And I saw something move.
Something larger than what is even perceivable by man, was moving past the station, with incredible speed and agility for its size. As it got closer, I realized what it was, an underwater monster, like an eel, gigantic, and hunting, and it had spotted me.
Desperately I tried to tell my companion about it, and I think I actually did, that in some way we could talk to eachother, even though we were wearing these diving suits and barely being able to breathe by the pressure and weight by the water as it was. She told me back, that she knew about that, but as long as I timed my departure allright, it would be fine.
And so I went outside, left the station, trying to make myself invisible, even with my lantern steadily clutched in my hand. As the monster approached me, glowing eyes fixed on me, and enormous jaws opening, readying itself to swallow me, I knew it was the lantern that drew it closer, but if I threw it away I would never find my way back up to the surface, or down to the station, again, and I would drown out there anyway when my oxygen ran out. So I clung on to the lantern, even as the giant eel opened its jaws and I was absorbed by the foul darkness inside the creature's mouth.
Over.
It was over.
But wait.
Wasn't there a streak of light somewhere ahead of me?
I tried to breathe calmly, saving my precious oxygen reserves. In my panic, my body and its survival instincts seemed to have acted while my mind had blocked down. I was hanging inside the creature, one hand grabbing some sort of unidentifiable part of it that was dangling on the inside of its, what to call it, cheeks, or whatever. And the light ahead of me was nothing else than the light of the station, vaguely sippering through the slowly opening jaws of the monster. It was about to swallow something else, and not knowing when another chance would come, I pushed off as hard as I could against the wall-like cheek, using all my power and energy to kick and swim my way closer to my exit point, the opening mouth.
I slipped out, just in time before the jaws shut close again, on some other victim of its hunting streak, but only for it to spot me escape.
It was far from over.
Bouncing and kicking my way downwards along its body, in a sort of Super Mario kind of way, I managed to make it dive after me, plunging downwards into the depths, closer to the station, saving me the long stretch I could never have gotten by myself.
Almost there.
I threw myself inside the hatch in the exact last minute, with the very last of my energy, my body screaming of pain and exhaustion as the adrenaline made my veins throb so badly I could hardly see my hand in front of me. The monster didn't give up, banging on the windows the hardest it could, and I knew we would have to get out before it smashed the glass.
Finally, she would listen to me, and somehow, this time, we were dragged upwards in the blink of an eye by rescue workers pulling us up.
This is the worst part.
Once up on dry land, panting of the exhaustion and of the panic, and of the gratefulness to have gotten out, I realize that she's not with me. That she is still down there, and out of some strange reason, so is my father, having replaced my spot down there with his own.
It takes them hours to pull them up.
I can't for the life of me understand what takes them so long this time, when they could pull me up so quickly...
I wait, wandering around the old creaking house, discovering an old and half rotten bathtub, along with the most wondrous little room, full of the most beautiful little pieces of rainbow-coloured furniture.
Finally, after a lot of anxiety and fear, they get them up, and they're both okay.
I wake up, sweating from fever and from the nightmare, and then fall asleep again almost right away, my fever making me drift in and out of shallow sleep. The dream goes on with me stating, I will never set my foot anywhere near an ocean ever again, not in my life. And one of the rescuers tells me, "Don't worry. There's another room." And this time, it's the left of the two doors. And as the door slams shut behind me, I see that it's exactly the same as the other room, in every little detail, and someone says, "Don't be sad all your things got messed up. We've managed to restore it all again for you to dive some more."
And the dream repeats.
Worst nightmare, ever, all categories. Laugh if you will.
DS.
Everyone For Themselves
Everyone for themselves.
You know, I was listening to this song playing on the radio the other day, going a bit like this: "Give me love, love is what I need to help me know my name". What? You need love, or you don't know who you are? Well, that just tells me loads more about yourself than it does about love.
Think about it for a second. This guy, singing the song, he needs someone else to love him in order to feel complete. Meaning, he needs someone else to confirm him and see him, meaning he needs someone else to define him. Or else he's bloody lost.
I don't know. I mean, sure. Loads of people think like him, ya know? Think that if they're not seen and confirmed by others, they're nothing. Loads of people think that love is the ultimate thing, and they actually want it, dream of it, long for it, need it. And yeah, I know, sometimes it can bloody kill ya to be alone. To be lonely. But that does not mean that without someone loving you, you're bloody lost.
In order to love someone else, my sis always says, you gotta love yourself first. And I think she's pretty damn right. Pretty, damn, right. If I'm strong in myself, enjoy myself, like myself, if I know where I stand and who I am as a person, well, then I'm both a hell more interesting person than someone who isn't, and if love should strike me down (cause it does at times), it won't matter. I know myself well enough to bounce back into the old me the minute that happens.
Don't try to tell yourselves you need to be loved. Love yourself instead. After all, the only person you can be absolutely bloody sure you're going to spend every minute of the rest of your life with, is yourself, right?
And if I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I'm right. Even if I look out among my friends, right? The ones who are independent, got a strong personality, and won't change for other people's sake, those are the ones you just love the most. They've got so much depth and they always make things happen and you just go along smiling to yourself, knowing, this is good, right? These people know what they want.
I don't know about you, but how intrigued would you be by some fella sitting in a corner afraid to utter a single little word in case someone, oh horrible thought, might disagree?
Even as I'm writing this, I know there are people who'll disagree. But that's the thing. What, you thought you could just walk right on through life without ever, ever, disagreeing with anyone, or having anyone disagree with you? I bet ya, doing that diplomat kinda thing is gonna lead you down a more complicated, tip-toeing road than the honest, however crude, will ever do.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Or by the way, no, please don't. Just absorb, dammit.
PS, I don't know if I mentioned it, but a while back we did a thing in school where we had like three hours to write an essay on 500 words? And the Nano part of me just threw myself over it, eagerly dissecting all the essay rules I could think of, resulting in the most sarcastic little piece of text I think I've ever written, all on purpose. And guess what? Got it back today with the highest grade. Only one remark: "Don't use contractions". Lol. I didn't see that one coming, but it sure as hell is a punch in the face of my old English Writing teacher. DS.
You know, I was listening to this song playing on the radio the other day, going a bit like this: "Give me love, love is what I need to help me know my name". What? You need love, or you don't know who you are? Well, that just tells me loads more about yourself than it does about love.
Think about it for a second. This guy, singing the song, he needs someone else to love him in order to feel complete. Meaning, he needs someone else to confirm him and see him, meaning he needs someone else to define him. Or else he's bloody lost.
I don't know. I mean, sure. Loads of people think like him, ya know? Think that if they're not seen and confirmed by others, they're nothing. Loads of people think that love is the ultimate thing, and they actually want it, dream of it, long for it, need it. And yeah, I know, sometimes it can bloody kill ya to be alone. To be lonely. But that does not mean that without someone loving you, you're bloody lost.
In order to love someone else, my sis always says, you gotta love yourself first. And I think she's pretty damn right. Pretty, damn, right. If I'm strong in myself, enjoy myself, like myself, if I know where I stand and who I am as a person, well, then I'm both a hell more interesting person than someone who isn't, and if love should strike me down (cause it does at times), it won't matter. I know myself well enough to bounce back into the old me the minute that happens.
Don't try to tell yourselves you need to be loved. Love yourself instead. After all, the only person you can be absolutely bloody sure you're going to spend every minute of the rest of your life with, is yourself, right?
And if I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I'm right. Even if I look out among my friends, right? The ones who are independent, got a strong personality, and won't change for other people's sake, those are the ones you just love the most. They've got so much depth and they always make things happen and you just go along smiling to yourself, knowing, this is good, right? These people know what they want.
I don't know about you, but how intrigued would you be by some fella sitting in a corner afraid to utter a single little word in case someone, oh horrible thought, might disagree?
Even as I'm writing this, I know there are people who'll disagree. But that's the thing. What, you thought you could just walk right on through life without ever, ever, disagreeing with anyone, or having anyone disagree with you? I bet ya, doing that diplomat kinda thing is gonna lead you down a more complicated, tip-toeing road than the honest, however crude, will ever do.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Or by the way, no, please don't. Just absorb, dammit.
PS, I don't know if I mentioned it, but a while back we did a thing in school where we had like three hours to write an essay on 500 words? And the Nano part of me just threw myself over it, eagerly dissecting all the essay rules I could think of, resulting in the most sarcastic little piece of text I think I've ever written, all on purpose. And guess what? Got it back today with the highest grade. Only one remark: "Don't use contractions". Lol. I didn't see that one coming, but it sure as hell is a punch in the face of my old English Writing teacher. DS.
Thursday, February 14
Kill And Tell
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
I'm done with screaming,
done with cries.
With contemplating
shallow lies.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by anxiety
You'd think it was for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
Save my breathing
to dissolve.
Save your lecture,
let me mould.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by naivety
You'd think they weren't for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
Oh, but I will.
__________________________
These lyrics are about forgetting your past and what you may have dwelled on. "Kill and tell" is a play on the expression "kiss and tell", here referring to how I've killed the anxiety of my past and how I'm now telling the story of it with a song. I go from talking about how I could let anxiety engulf me, but that I won't let it, to how I could let naivety engulf me, and how I plan to. Naivety, pureness, innocence. That is what shields us from being wounded in life. Even if you stray from it for a long time you might allow yourself to move on, be happy again, if you embrace them. I don't wanna be sceptic anymore. Anticipate being hurt cause that's what mostly happens. I wanna just sway here, in the moment, enjoying every piece of it, without having to worry about what it's gonna lead to or what it's gonna do to me. I just wanna be like a kid, a naive little kid, enjoying love and all that comes along with it without ever having to think about the consequences.
And I will.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
I'm done with screaming,
done with cries.
With contemplating
shallow lies.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by anxiety
You'd think it was for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
Save my breathing
to dissolve.
Save your lecture,
let me mould.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by naivety
You'd think they weren't for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
Oh, but I will.
__________________________
These lyrics are about forgetting your past and what you may have dwelled on. "Kill and tell" is a play on the expression "kiss and tell", here referring to how I've killed the anxiety of my past and how I'm now telling the story of it with a song. I go from talking about how I could let anxiety engulf me, but that I won't let it, to how I could let naivety engulf me, and how I plan to. Naivety, pureness, innocence. That is what shields us from being wounded in life. Even if you stray from it for a long time you might allow yourself to move on, be happy again, if you embrace them. I don't wanna be sceptic anymore. Anticipate being hurt cause that's what mostly happens. I wanna just sway here, in the moment, enjoying every piece of it, without having to worry about what it's gonna lead to or what it's gonna do to me. I just wanna be like a kid, a naive little kid, enjoying love and all that comes along with it without ever having to think about the consequences.
And I will.
Friday, February 8
Dreams & Orders
I had the most awesome dream ever last night! I dreamt of POTF! Haha! I dreamt that they came to this festival called Pier Pressure (which no one seems to know if it's gonna happen this year) and that I got to perform along with them, and they signed all my CD's and photos and so on. It was so cool! I think I'll live on this dream alone for like a month ahead, ha, ha. In the dream, I even dreamt I was appointed "female vocalist", I don't even know when that would come in handy, but still... haha.
And since you know me, I read signs into the dream, and so I've just placed an order at CDON.com of ALL the CD's, except for single "Sorry go round", "Locking up the sun", and of course, upcoming album "Revolution Roulette" which isn't even available for preorder yet. Wow, can't wait, can't wait, can't wait! *Jumps up and down* Since I gave away my LUTS single for a friend last Christmas, I'm kinda missing it, but it feels too soon to order another one. Maybe I'll do that along with newest album in March or something. Anyway, four of the CD's landing in my mailbox soon, I'm already excited (my bank account slightly less so).
Especially "Ultimate Fling" single is gonna rock my world.
So bless me, POTF, haven't sinned this time, instead rather sung a whole dozen of "Ave Maria" or whatever it's called in English.
Gotta study now, even turned down beer (!) in order to do so, so I better get to it. Lucky me that "studying" in my case means "re-reading Harry Potter series for educational purposes", which is the first step of my essay coming up. Wish me luck.
PS. Just got an email back from the critique firm, they say it'll take two weeks from now to review it. Nervous, nervous, nervous. You get the idea. DS.
And since you know me, I read signs into the dream, and so I've just placed an order at CDON.com of ALL the CD's, except for single "Sorry go round", "Locking up the sun", and of course, upcoming album "Revolution Roulette" which isn't even available for preorder yet. Wow, can't wait, can't wait, can't wait! *Jumps up and down* Since I gave away my LUTS single for a friend last Christmas, I'm kinda missing it, but it feels too soon to order another one. Maybe I'll do that along with newest album in March or something. Anyway, four of the CD's landing in my mailbox soon, I'm already excited (my bank account slightly less so).
Especially "Ultimate Fling" single is gonna rock my world.
So bless me, POTF, haven't sinned this time, instead rather sung a whole dozen of "Ave Maria" or whatever it's called in English.
Gotta study now, even turned down beer (!) in order to do so, so I better get to it. Lucky me that "studying" in my case means "re-reading Harry Potter series for educational purposes", which is the first step of my essay coming up. Wish me luck.
PS. Just got an email back from the critique firm, they say it'll take two weeks from now to review it. Nervous, nervous, nervous. You get the idea. DS.
Monday, January 28
A Hundred Shades Of Different Greys
Grey is the essence
of my absent belief
Grey are the nuances
of all my grief
Everything in grey colours
is how it used to be
But then the grey
grew stronger
somehow
And it's all been turned
to black
by now
I know how much I hated it
and still I want it back
Grey is at least endurable
compared to the intensity
of black
I see it all in black now
I see it all in black
And a hundred shades
of different greys
still beats the one tone
of black
____________________________
I felt I wanted to comment on these lyrics. Been a while since I did that. This song is a bit different from what I usually write, there's basically just one part that's the verse part and then we have the ending, which would count as it's refrain. After this the song simply repeats from the beginning. The text took form before the melody on this one. I was writing a poem while pondering over the emotions of one of my characters and it just struck me how it sound if it was sung. And that's how it was turned into lyrics instead. It's not exactly a masterpiece, but it captures a certain feeling very well, and spot on. The feeling of grief. You may have thought your life felt insignificant before, that it was all grey, and you never knew you could feel anything stronger. And then when grief hits you, it's as if all those grey things are like, multiplied by ten in power, and it takes form of the darkest darkness, the blackest of black, imaginable to the human mind.
A voice of grief. That is the origin of this piece.
Thank you for reading it through.
of my absent belief
Grey are the nuances
of all my grief
Everything in grey colours
is how it used to be
But then the grey
grew stronger
somehow
And it's all been turned
to black
by now
I know how much I hated it
and still I want it back
Grey is at least endurable
compared to the intensity
of black
I see it all in black now
I see it all in black
And a hundred shades
of different greys
still beats the one tone
of black
____________________________
I felt I wanted to comment on these lyrics. Been a while since I did that. This song is a bit different from what I usually write, there's basically just one part that's the verse part and then we have the ending, which would count as it's refrain. After this the song simply repeats from the beginning. The text took form before the melody on this one. I was writing a poem while pondering over the emotions of one of my characters and it just struck me how it sound if it was sung. And that's how it was turned into lyrics instead. It's not exactly a masterpiece, but it captures a certain feeling very well, and spot on. The feeling of grief. You may have thought your life felt insignificant before, that it was all grey, and you never knew you could feel anything stronger. And then when grief hits you, it's as if all those grey things are like, multiplied by ten in power, and it takes form of the darkest darkness, the blackest of black, imaginable to the human mind.
A voice of grief. That is the origin of this piece.
Thank you for reading it through.
Patience, The Poet, Patience
Got the contract back today, countersigned by the contract administrator at the agency. Along with it were even more instructions on how to proceed from here... I think that if I read any more of it I'm gonna go goggle-eyed. But yeah, I got the gist of things thanks to all the long emails, so I'm not gonna complain. I sent my account info to the critique firm and still they haven't withdrew the modest amount from my bank account, but since there's just been a weekend I suppose I gotta give them a break. The letter with payment instructions said it might take up to four business days before you'll hear from them, and counting since Thursday it's only been three. Patience, the Poet, patience. If I aint heard nothing by tomorrow I'll resend the email.
We'll see what happens.
They say that you gotta be in it for the long run, since going via a normal publicist takes time, and I understand that. I've signed the contract running for a year, and I'm pretty confident I'll sign for another year once this one's done out, in case nothing has happened. No doubt, this agency has more benefits than any other I've been looking in to, and I'm not gonna let them down now that they have embraced me and my piece. Besides, if I was into my writing for the sake of having it published as soon as possible instead of for the story's sake, I wouldn't last long in the industry anyway. (Can't help but to imagine some happy scenarios in my head though, I admit.)
Wrote a few rows on the novel yesterday, but it went really slow. I guess I'm still too worked up about it (is that possible? I should have digested it by now) to really be able to throw myself into the novel again. Although that hasn't stopped me from thinking about it. I'm thinking about it all the time. Of what's gonna happen next, about how I'm gonna write it, about the characters, about the ending... it's constantly buzzing in my head. So why is it that none of that comes out when I'm sitting in front of the screen?
Dammit.
Tonight's the first lesson of my evening class, that'll be interesting. Feels weird to go all day doing nothing knowing you're going to school in the evening, haha.
Don't know what else to tell you, except that a little piece of lyrics are coming up after this post. Keep your eyes open.
Huggies for y'all.
We'll see what happens.
They say that you gotta be in it for the long run, since going via a normal publicist takes time, and I understand that. I've signed the contract running for a year, and I'm pretty confident I'll sign for another year once this one's done out, in case nothing has happened. No doubt, this agency has more benefits than any other I've been looking in to, and I'm not gonna let them down now that they have embraced me and my piece. Besides, if I was into my writing for the sake of having it published as soon as possible instead of for the story's sake, I wouldn't last long in the industry anyway. (Can't help but to imagine some happy scenarios in my head though, I admit.)
Wrote a few rows on the novel yesterday, but it went really slow. I guess I'm still too worked up about it (is that possible? I should have digested it by now) to really be able to throw myself into the novel again. Although that hasn't stopped me from thinking about it. I'm thinking about it all the time. Of what's gonna happen next, about how I'm gonna write it, about the characters, about the ending... it's constantly buzzing in my head. So why is it that none of that comes out when I'm sitting in front of the screen?
Dammit.
Tonight's the first lesson of my evening class, that'll be interesting. Feels weird to go all day doing nothing knowing you're going to school in the evening, haha.
Don't know what else to tell you, except that a little piece of lyrics are coming up after this post. Keep your eyes open.
Huggies for y'all.
Thursday, January 24
No Loopholes
Right, I thought I'd keep y'all updated with a quickie post before breakfast (don't judge me. I have the day off). Today I received the contract from the agency right into my inbox. I've had it signed electronically and returned it to sender, so now I'm waiting for a confirmation email. The contract looked really good, no loopholes, just logical. They get paid only if I get paid and so on. I also have the right to cancel the contract within 74 hours after I've sent it, or within 90 days if nothing has happened. (Yeah, likely that I will, now I finally got this far, but what the heck. Nice to know it's doable.) I also sent an email to a certain adress as instructed in the contract email, to get a referee for a formal critique. I've heard it been said that it won't take any more than a week to go through the critique once it's paid for, I hope that's true, cause I'm really curious what someone outside the project will have to say about it. A little anxious that it'll be totally dissected... but hey, they took me in, so there's gotta be some quality over it. I believe what I'll get back is foremost remarks on mechanics, like how to use quotation marks or stuff like that, and that should be easy to fix. Well, since they haven't got the ending included in the manuscript, maybe a remark on the somehow incomplete plot will also be made, ha, ha. Well, the agency says it doesn't really matter if the story's finished before you perform the critique, the tips and hints you get there will just help you to finish it. I hope they are right.
Standing by to see what happens next.
Right now I gotta get me something to eat!
Standing by to see what happens next.
Right now I gotta get me something to eat!
Tuesday, January 22
Sleeping Fortress
Well. This whole thing kinda reminds me of when I got the offer to come see this apartment. It was all the same circus, with me pondering what would happen if I should get it, what would happen if I shouldn't... and just the same way as now, I had a good feeling, I let myself hope for it, because I just sensed it was gonna work out. Even though the odds were very small.
All this, it's the same old thing, you know?
I sent it in... I told myself I wouldn't be accepted... and I was.
I really still can't believe that I got an agent!
Wow, this is gonna keep me happy for like ever.
I couldn't even sleep last night, I was way too worked up, I couldn't stop imagining how things are all gonna turn out... I can't believe they took me on, I can't believe they liked my story!
I was wondering yesterday whether this would make it easier or harder to finish the story, and I'm thinking it's gonna be easier. Nanowrimo made me really work hard, because I knew there was a goal with it, there was a purpose with it, you know? And since then, I've only written a few chapters, cause it kinda felt like it was already accomplished in a way, already done. But now, I have another goal to strive for, and I think it's gonna fuel me in my writing even more.
On to something else. We took a walk yesterday, and just happened to take a stroll up a hill nearby, and guess what happened? We found this wonderful, gorgeous place, the ruins of an old fortress that used to stand on that hill that has now been turned into a park. You can still see the wall at places and where the towers used to be, even though it's pretty much overgrown. They've made such a beautiful place up there it's hard for me to even describe it... it's terrific. I had no idea there was such a place in the middle of the city! Isn't that strange? I've lived here for almost, let's see... a year and a half? And I never even knew this place existed.
It was so beautiful... there were these great climbing trees all over the place, and a pond, and benches everywhere, and wherever you stood you could look out over the city all around... and just explore the paths leading in and out of the trees, explore the remains of the walls and the bunkers. So exciting! I'm gonna ask Grandma and Grandpa if they know what that place used to be, they've lived here much longer than I have and are like experts on local history. I'm really curious... I think I'm gonna go back there today.
We've had sunlight and a blue sky now two days in a row, and it's incredible what that does to your mood. I don't think we've had that much sun all winter. Or at least that's what it's felt like. It's almost as if spring is coming already. If it is, I will surely welcome it...
Well, gotta run down to the basement and do some laundry.
I still got my feet on solid ground, ha, ha.
I might drop in again when I'm done, cause I got a song in my head that needs to be published.
BLOWKISS to you all from POET in the JAR
All this, it's the same old thing, you know?
I sent it in... I told myself I wouldn't be accepted... and I was.
I really still can't believe that I got an agent!
Wow, this is gonna keep me happy for like ever.
I couldn't even sleep last night, I was way too worked up, I couldn't stop imagining how things are all gonna turn out... I can't believe they took me on, I can't believe they liked my story!
I was wondering yesterday whether this would make it easier or harder to finish the story, and I'm thinking it's gonna be easier. Nanowrimo made me really work hard, because I knew there was a goal with it, there was a purpose with it, you know? And since then, I've only written a few chapters, cause it kinda felt like it was already accomplished in a way, already done. But now, I have another goal to strive for, and I think it's gonna fuel me in my writing even more.
On to something else. We took a walk yesterday, and just happened to take a stroll up a hill nearby, and guess what happened? We found this wonderful, gorgeous place, the ruins of an old fortress that used to stand on that hill that has now been turned into a park. You can still see the wall at places and where the towers used to be, even though it's pretty much overgrown. They've made such a beautiful place up there it's hard for me to even describe it... it's terrific. I had no idea there was such a place in the middle of the city! Isn't that strange? I've lived here for almost, let's see... a year and a half? And I never even knew this place existed.
It was so beautiful... there were these great climbing trees all over the place, and a pond, and benches everywhere, and wherever you stood you could look out over the city all around... and just explore the paths leading in and out of the trees, explore the remains of the walls and the bunkers. So exciting! I'm gonna ask Grandma and Grandpa if they know what that place used to be, they've lived here much longer than I have and are like experts on local history. I'm really curious... I think I'm gonna go back there today.
We've had sunlight and a blue sky now two days in a row, and it's incredible what that does to your mood. I don't think we've had that much sun all winter. Or at least that's what it's felt like. It's almost as if spring is coming already. If it is, I will surely welcome it...
Well, gotta run down to the basement and do some laundry.
I still got my feet on solid ground, ha, ha.
I might drop in again when I'm done, cause I got a song in my head that needs to be published.
BLOWKISS to you all from POET in the JAR
Monday, January 21
Another Step!
I'm sitting here, in front of the screen, staring at an eagerly awaited email with the following opening words:
You realize what this is? Cause I've read this email surely twenty times today and I'm still struggling to understand it. Struggling to grasp what I've managed to pull off and how incredibly, bloody lucky I am to come this far with the very first agency I've been in contact with.
Oh my God, I'm jumping up and down right now!
I think I'm gonna walk around with a smile on my face for the rest of the week!
No, wait, for the rest of the month. All the way into summer!
You know, I never actually thought they would accept it, I mean I hoped they would, I just didn't believe it. I kinda braced myself for a no so that I wouldn't be disappointed if they didn't want to take it on... and still... I had a good feeling all along. I really believe in this story, and I can't even attempt to put in words how much it means to me that someone else believes in it too. That someone believes in it enough as to take it on and represent me, help me out. Can you imagine?
I pulled off Nanowrimo barely two months ago, already I am being embraced by an agency, if I'm lucky I will be published during the year. Can you believe that? That I might get published?
It's insane, I can hardly believe it!
It finally feels as if everything I've ever done with my writing is starting to pay off, that all the crap I've written before has all lead up to this. It's amazing, the feeling is just... undescribable.
Well, don't get too excited yet, there's still a long way to go. The agency's job is to find me a publisher that wants to buy my story, so being taken on by an agency is merely the first step. But come on! Still! It's so, I'm, I'm just so happy about it, all the blood, sweat and tears is finally taking me somewhere, and an agency, that is a very, very good start.
Next step is to reply to the agency that I'm willing to proceed. They will then send me the contract that I'm going to sign with them (only obligation is to stay with them for a year, they don't get any copyright or anything, merely getting to be my representatives), along with recommendations for good critics. Performing a critique of my novel is recommended so that the formalia and everything can meet or even exceed the set standards. I mean, for one thing, I'm not a native English speaker, so I always go along with the Swedish sort of punctuation and stuff like that. So, next step is, sign the contract with the agency, then send my manuscript to one of their critics for a review. When that critique comes back to me, I rewrite/finish the script, and resubmit it to the agency. When all that is finally done, they can start looking for a publisher that might be interested in the novel.
Phew, all that formal stuff aside, I'm still nervous and jumpy, the same weird way I usually become nervous after I found out about something or after something is over. Then I get nervous, instead of before. Strange behaviour? I don't know, maybe it is, maybe I'm just having a hard time grasping.
My wild imagination races ahead of me, picturing how the finished book will look in print, imagining my name on a published book, imagining that I might actually become an official writer. Imagining that I might actually become able to make some money out of it too. I can't help but admit it would be very welcome, ha, ha. No, seriously, it would take me one step closer to what my dream is - being able to become a full time writer and make a living out of it.
Isn't it amazing?
Oh, my, God. One step closer. Only a few more to go!
POP OPEN THE CHAMPAGNE, FELLAS, CAUSE THE POET'S GONNA CELEBRATE!
Thanks all you guys who stick in there for me!
"Thank you for everything that we have received from you thus far. Our review team believes that your work has commercial potential and we would like to proceed by offering to represent you.
We feel that your concept and writing thus far has potential and that if it is polished and presented properly, we can sell it."
We feel that your concept and writing thus far has potential and that if it is polished and presented properly, we can sell it."
You realize what this is? Cause I've read this email surely twenty times today and I'm still struggling to understand it. Struggling to grasp what I've managed to pull off and how incredibly, bloody lucky I am to come this far with the very first agency I've been in contact with.
Oh my God, I'm jumping up and down right now!
I think I'm gonna walk around with a smile on my face for the rest of the week!
No, wait, for the rest of the month. All the way into summer!
You know, I never actually thought they would accept it, I mean I hoped they would, I just didn't believe it. I kinda braced myself for a no so that I wouldn't be disappointed if they didn't want to take it on... and still... I had a good feeling all along. I really believe in this story, and I can't even attempt to put in words how much it means to me that someone else believes in it too. That someone believes in it enough as to take it on and represent me, help me out. Can you imagine?
I pulled off Nanowrimo barely two months ago, already I am being embraced by an agency, if I'm lucky I will be published during the year. Can you believe that? That I might get published?
It's insane, I can hardly believe it!
It finally feels as if everything I've ever done with my writing is starting to pay off, that all the crap I've written before has all lead up to this. It's amazing, the feeling is just... undescribable.
Well, don't get too excited yet, there's still a long way to go. The agency's job is to find me a publisher that wants to buy my story, so being taken on by an agency is merely the first step. But come on! Still! It's so, I'm, I'm just so happy about it, all the blood, sweat and tears is finally taking me somewhere, and an agency, that is a very, very good start.
Next step is to reply to the agency that I'm willing to proceed. They will then send me the contract that I'm going to sign with them (only obligation is to stay with them for a year, they don't get any copyright or anything, merely getting to be my representatives), along with recommendations for good critics. Performing a critique of my novel is recommended so that the formalia and everything can meet or even exceed the set standards. I mean, for one thing, I'm not a native English speaker, so I always go along with the Swedish sort of punctuation and stuff like that. So, next step is, sign the contract with the agency, then send my manuscript to one of their critics for a review. When that critique comes back to me, I rewrite/finish the script, and resubmit it to the agency. When all that is finally done, they can start looking for a publisher that might be interested in the novel.
Phew, all that formal stuff aside, I'm still nervous and jumpy, the same weird way I usually become nervous after I found out about something or after something is over. Then I get nervous, instead of before. Strange behaviour? I don't know, maybe it is, maybe I'm just having a hard time grasping.
My wild imagination races ahead of me, picturing how the finished book will look in print, imagining my name on a published book, imagining that I might actually become an official writer. Imagining that I might actually become able to make some money out of it too. I can't help but admit it would be very welcome, ha, ha. No, seriously, it would take me one step closer to what my dream is - being able to become a full time writer and make a living out of it.
Isn't it amazing?
Oh, my, God. One step closer. Only a few more to go!
POP OPEN THE CHAMPAGNE, FELLAS, CAUSE THE POET'S GONNA CELEBRATE!
Thanks all you guys who stick in there for me!
Saturday, January 19
The Question
Why do we have to grow up?
Why do we have to become these responsible, adult, dreamless, boring people?
Why can't we just stay like we used to be, that way, innocent, never worrying, just playing, just enjoying the moment, enjoying the day. Enjoying life.
For the last few days I've really felt like a child again. Felt like everything's just good, just enjoyable, it's life, and it's good, you know?
The pessimist little voice in me tries to tell me I'm not gonna stay like this forever.
And I know that.
But that's not what it's about.
It's the question as to why can't we be like this all the time?
Why do we have to fix things?
Why do we have to take care of everything? Of everyone?
Sometimes I just feel as if the only thing I ever do is taking care of people. And I just want some time for my own. Take care of myself, you know?
Have my own stuff, have my own mess, have my own life, I don't want to share it all, I just wanna be me.
I'm sorry, but that's just me...
Why do we have to become these responsible, adult, dreamless, boring people?
Why can't we just stay like we used to be, that way, innocent, never worrying, just playing, just enjoying the moment, enjoying the day. Enjoying life.
For the last few days I've really felt like a child again. Felt like everything's just good, just enjoyable, it's life, and it's good, you know?
The pessimist little voice in me tries to tell me I'm not gonna stay like this forever.
And I know that.
But that's not what it's about.
It's the question as to why can't we be like this all the time?
Why do we have to fix things?
Why do we have to take care of everything? Of everyone?
Sometimes I just feel as if the only thing I ever do is taking care of people. And I just want some time for my own. Take care of myself, you know?
Have my own stuff, have my own mess, have my own life, I don't want to share it all, I just wanna be me.
I'm sorry, but that's just me...
Friday, January 18
Globetrotter?
Got off the phone with my sis for a couple of hours ago, with a fresh and nice idea in mind. So far, well, as far as my studies are concerned, I was planning to take this term within my programme and then do something completely else during the fall, maybe take a course in Creative Writing or something, something that was just fun, you know? Something that wasn't just for the sake of my "future" or for my "own good", just picking a course for fun and nothing else, I think I could afford doing that. So, anyway, what my sister proposed was kinda tempting. Well, she'd come up with the idea while I'd been struggling along with getting into the spring term courses. Which I now have been accepted to, by the way! As of today. They registered me despite my bad luck with retake timings and everything, and said it was perfectly allright to do the retakes during the spring. Phew! They really had me worried there for a while! I guess, even though I hardly believed so myself, that some of the staff at the school actually know me - us - by now, and that they know if we'll be able to make it out of pure instinct. I checked the spring schedules out, they're amazing! I don't think there was a single week where I studied more than two days and some weeks we don't even have lessons at all! Wohoo! Gee, with that slow pace and with so little to do in school other than just reading, I think this spring might even give me the opportunity to finish my book properly alongside with my studies. Cool, huh?
(trying not to think of the script)
Where were we? Oh well, my sis, yeah. She'd figured that if I didn't get into the spring's courses I could sign up for one of those free spots left in the courses at Stockholm University and study there for a term, or a couple of weeks. My sis just got the contract of her new place signed, so whenever I go to visit her up there, I'll be able to live with her. I think that would just be awesome. Well, since I did get in to the courses, and I really want to take them to keep my English going and everything, that's the plan for this spring. But when fall comes, I'll probably be spending a course or two at the Stockholm University.
I feel like a globetrotter already.
I mean, how good won't it look like on my resumé if it says I've spent a term studying in this country's capital? Besides, one step towards the capital (which, mind you, is like a five or six hours drive from here) is one step towards going abroad.
One step closer to heading out and away, to chase my dreams...
I think I'm gonna go really economical, you know, be cheap as hell and save in on everything, so that maybe in a year or so I'll be able to do that. Go abroad! Live abroad! Well, that last one might be a bit optimistic, but it's definitely what I'd like to do.
I haven't really discussed this idea with anyone yet, and nothing is really decided formally, but I can't help but like the idea. Sure. It's gonna be tough being away from everyone down here that I love so much... but it might just be me having the time of my life, too.
And have you thought about it this way? If I spend a few months in Stockholm I get a completely other insight into what it is like living in a big city than a few days would ever be able to give me. My sis could take me to all the best places and I could meet all her friends for once and it could all be so much fun. At least I'd be able to decide whether or not I'd like living in a place like that, haha.
I want to see the world... I want to do things for fun and for my own sake. After all, it's me that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, that's what I always say, haha.
CHEERS!
PS By the way I gotta slip this into your notion, I've managed to get my hands on a copy of POTF's The Ultimate Fling and it just totally blew my mind away. Happy happy!
PS, Number Two It feels as though things are fixing themselves up as we go along. Both for my sis and for me. I'm happy that my life's so good right now!
Have the best of evenings ever!
(trying not to think of the script)
Where were we? Oh well, my sis, yeah. She'd figured that if I didn't get into the spring's courses I could sign up for one of those free spots left in the courses at Stockholm University and study there for a term, or a couple of weeks. My sis just got the contract of her new place signed, so whenever I go to visit her up there, I'll be able to live with her. I think that would just be awesome. Well, since I did get in to the courses, and I really want to take them to keep my English going and everything, that's the plan for this spring. But when fall comes, I'll probably be spending a course or two at the Stockholm University.
I feel like a globetrotter already.
I mean, how good won't it look like on my resumé if it says I've spent a term studying in this country's capital? Besides, one step towards the capital (which, mind you, is like a five or six hours drive from here) is one step towards going abroad.
One step closer to heading out and away, to chase my dreams...
I think I'm gonna go really economical, you know, be cheap as hell and save in on everything, so that maybe in a year or so I'll be able to do that. Go abroad! Live abroad! Well, that last one might be a bit optimistic, but it's definitely what I'd like to do.
I haven't really discussed this idea with anyone yet, and nothing is really decided formally, but I can't help but like the idea. Sure. It's gonna be tough being away from everyone down here that I love so much... but it might just be me having the time of my life, too.
And have you thought about it this way? If I spend a few months in Stockholm I get a completely other insight into what it is like living in a big city than a few days would ever be able to give me. My sis could take me to all the best places and I could meet all her friends for once and it could all be so much fun. At least I'd be able to decide whether or not I'd like living in a place like that, haha.
I want to see the world... I want to do things for fun and for my own sake. After all, it's me that I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, that's what I always say, haha.
CHEERS!
PS By the way I gotta slip this into your notion, I've managed to get my hands on a copy of POTF's The Ultimate Fling and it just totally blew my mind away. Happy happy!
PS, Number Two It feels as though things are fixing themselves up as we go along. Both for my sis and for me. I'm happy that my life's so good right now!
Have the best of evenings ever!
Thursday, January 17
Meaning Of Sweet
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste on my tongue,
nowhere to run
Set me on fire,
the game has begun
Watching the flames
come and take me away
The salter the taste,
the quicker the pace
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste on my lips,
bitter but sweet
As your fingertips
put their curse on me
Watching the rain
come drowning the flames
and taking my dreams
along down the drain
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste of a life
that might have been ours
Only that teaser's
within our power
Only to taste
but never to eat
Going to haste,
we're going to waste
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste on my tongue,
nowhere to run
Set me on fire,
the game has begun
Watching the flames
come and take me away
The salter the taste,
the quicker the pace
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste on my lips,
bitter but sweet
As your fingertips
put their curse on me
Watching the rain
come drowning the flames
and taking my dreams
along down the drain
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Taste of a life
that might have been ours
Only that teaser's
within our power
Only to taste
but never to eat
Going to haste,
we're going to waste
Sweet as your heart, sweet as your soul
Sweet as your life and all of your goals
Sweet as yourself, sweet as your hell
Meaning that sweet isn't tender at all
Wednesday, January 16
In Exhange For A Dream
I cry.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas have overdeveloped into emotionless, apathic vegetables that don't care about nothing. You don't care cause it's easier that way. Easier to tell yourself what you just saw on TV isn't real, it's fake, just horror stories, all for entertainment.
But I watch TV, and see some kid being heartbroken cause someone failed a promise to him, a promise to take him out of his situation, taking him out of being a child soldier.
And you know what? That someone, that what's-his-name, goes home, flies all the way back to America, and does what?
He drinks.
Drowns all his pain in booze.
I'm watching all this and I cry. Can't help it, the tears just come, they're just flowing down my cheeks like the river Kwai. And it's not because of that someone. Not because he was too busy obeying orders and drowning his poor judgeless self in liqour.
It's because of that kid.
I don't even like kids.
What is it then? What is it that is getting to me, getting to the Poet, too emotional, too caring for her own good? Too goddamn emo?
Well. It's the way his eyes fade and die. The way that tiny little flare of hope just flickers, and goes out, and that dawning comprehension sweeps in over his face. That he was just being used for better purposes. That most people don't know what a promise is. Don't know what a promise is worth.
He was, just... all he wanted, was to get out. Far out. That's all he wanted. That was his dream.
And they don't even tell him.
They throw him a couple of dollar bills for payment.
Dollars.
In exchange for a dream.
It's absurd.
The flare goes out in his eyes, and is replaced by another flare. Flare of hatred. Flare of heartbreaking disappointment. The image of that kid, just going wild, sobbing and screaming with his little broken and undignified voice, it just burnt into the inside of my eyelids, and I can't see anything but it.
I can't sleep.
He doesn't ask if that someone had lied.
He simply states it.
Sobbing... and screaming. Even though his voice is more like a whisper:
"You lied! You promised! You lied to me! You lied! Why did you lie? I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"
And I cry.
That's what's the world like. All the time.
Grown-up people take away the young people's dreams.
When I was little, everyone loved what I wrote. Everyone thought I was a gifted child, wanted to see what I had written that day, everyone was curious, they encouraged me.
And when it was about time to start and become a little responsible in life, they took it away from me.
They took away my dream.
I don't wanna be like that little kid.
I don't wanna be deserted.
Left alone.
Without hopes, without faith, only tears, and anger, and hate.
Most of all I can't stop thinking about that kid.
That someone has nurtured his hatred for another solid decade.
And he's still there. Still out there. Left in the world, no one to care, no one to take him away.
I cry.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas don't dare to.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas have overdeveloped into emotionless, apathic vegetables that don't care about nothing. You don't care cause it's easier that way. Easier to tell yourself what you just saw on TV isn't real, it's fake, just horror stories, all for entertainment.
But I watch TV, and see some kid being heartbroken cause someone failed a promise to him, a promise to take him out of his situation, taking him out of being a child soldier.
And you know what? That someone, that what's-his-name, goes home, flies all the way back to America, and does what?
He drinks.
Drowns all his pain in booze.
I'm watching all this and I cry. Can't help it, the tears just come, they're just flowing down my cheeks like the river Kwai. And it's not because of that someone. Not because he was too busy obeying orders and drowning his poor judgeless self in liqour.
It's because of that kid.
I don't even like kids.
What is it then? What is it that is getting to me, getting to the Poet, too emotional, too caring for her own good? Too goddamn emo?
Well. It's the way his eyes fade and die. The way that tiny little flare of hope just flickers, and goes out, and that dawning comprehension sweeps in over his face. That he was just being used for better purposes. That most people don't know what a promise is. Don't know what a promise is worth.
He was, just... all he wanted, was to get out. Far out. That's all he wanted. That was his dream.
And they don't even tell him.
They throw him a couple of dollar bills for payment.
Dollars.
In exchange for a dream.
It's absurd.
The flare goes out in his eyes, and is replaced by another flare. Flare of hatred. Flare of heartbreaking disappointment. The image of that kid, just going wild, sobbing and screaming with his little broken and undignified voice, it just burnt into the inside of my eyelids, and I can't see anything but it.
I can't sleep.
He doesn't ask if that someone had lied.
He simply states it.
Sobbing... and screaming. Even though his voice is more like a whisper:
"You lied! You promised! You lied to me! You lied! Why did you lie? I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!"
And I cry.
That's what's the world like. All the time.
Grown-up people take away the young people's dreams.
When I was little, everyone loved what I wrote. Everyone thought I was a gifted child, wanted to see what I had written that day, everyone was curious, they encouraged me.
And when it was about time to start and become a little responsible in life, they took it away from me.
They took away my dream.
I don't wanna be like that little kid.
I don't wanna be deserted.
Left alone.
Without hopes, without faith, only tears, and anger, and hate.
Most of all I can't stop thinking about that kid.
That someone has nurtured his hatred for another solid decade.
And he's still there. Still out there. Left in the world, no one to care, no one to take him away.
I cry.
So what?
Just cause all you other fellas don't dare to.
Tuesday, January 15
Unheart Me
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
I wouldn't doubt
if the thought
of thinking too hard
would have knocked me out
I wouldn't pray
when my prayers are wasted
anyhow
Well, I'm standing before you now
Will you take me out?
Would you rid me of my heart,
I can do without
without it, without it...
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
I would have died
I would die
from my pains
if you hadn't come around
Better to live
feeling nothing
than die from explosions
in my mind
So take my emotions,
take them all and carve them out
without it, without it...
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
Please leave all your marks on me
Clear for everyone to see
Let them know my state of mind
Everyone crosses the same old line
Leave me battered, chop my feet
Unable to feel empathy
Let them know what wise men say
Go too close,
and you've gone away
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
I wouldn't doubt
if the thought
of thinking too hard
would have knocked me out
I wouldn't pray
when my prayers are wasted
anyhow
Well, I'm standing before you now
Will you take me out?
Would you rid me of my heart,
I can do without
without it, without it...
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
I would have died
I would die
from my pains
if you hadn't come around
Better to live
feeling nothing
than die from explosions
in my mind
So take my emotions,
take them all and carve them out
without it, without it...
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
Please leave all your marks on me
Clear for everyone to see
Let them know my state of mind
Everyone crosses the same old line
Leave me battered, chop my feet
Unable to feel empathy
Let them know what wise men say
Go too close,
and you've gone away
Scar me
Oh will you scar me
Take that knife and disarm me
That heart's gonna
Scar me
Unheart me
Monday, January 14
Ten Days Time
I'm only poppin in to tell ya that I just sent the manuscript.
In ten days time, we'll know for sure what they think of it.
Oh my.
POET in the WRITER'S JAR
In ten days time, we'll know for sure what they think of it.
Oh my.
POET in the WRITER'S JAR
Sunday, January 13
Chasing Dreams
Hey peeps.
I just got out of bed and I got like a million things to do today. I gotta clean this place up - you know, believing a new nice place would make me clean better must have been a mistake by me. How is that? I really thought it would work out, ha, ha. Well, guess it's got a few reasons, I need more shelfs and places to put stuff and all, I got a few boxes that still are unpacked and you know. I'll just blame on that in combination with a lot of schoolwork and just an itsy bitsy little bit of laziness... ha, ha.
But that'll work out during the day/week/month/year... ha, ha... man I'm too tired for this...
Anyway! Well, second thing on the list, or should I say the first, since it's kinda prioritized pretty much higher over cleaning, is finishing my VFU assignment (schoolwork... write a thousand words on the topic of "what characterizes good assessment in teaching" - come on!). And then, when I've done all that, I just might sit down and look over my book.
By the end of the day, fellas, I'm sending my unfinished manuscript over to WL Writer's Agency for reviewing.
Oh my. Even though I know it's gonna take them maybe as much as up to ten days to go through it, it's like... oh my God, I'm so nervous about it. I haven't been able to sleep properly for like, days, just cause I'm all worked up about it. It doesn't matter if they're going to send it back to me with a "sorry, this aint commercially viable" tag attached to it or if they say it sucks like hell, this is still the furthest I've ever gotten in my pursue of writing that book, which has always been my dream...
And is it really that strange that chasing dreams makes you nervous?
Even though you have no idea how it's going to unfold?
Of course not.
Howdy, says POET in the JAR.
I just got out of bed and I got like a million things to do today. I gotta clean this place up - you know, believing a new nice place would make me clean better must have been a mistake by me. How is that? I really thought it would work out, ha, ha. Well, guess it's got a few reasons, I need more shelfs and places to put stuff and all, I got a few boxes that still are unpacked and you know. I'll just blame on that in combination with a lot of schoolwork and just an itsy bitsy little bit of laziness... ha, ha.
But that'll work out during the day/week/month/year... ha, ha... man I'm too tired for this...
Anyway! Well, second thing on the list, or should I say the first, since it's kinda prioritized pretty much higher over cleaning, is finishing my VFU assignment (schoolwork... write a thousand words on the topic of "what characterizes good assessment in teaching" - come on!). And then, when I've done all that, I just might sit down and look over my book.
By the end of the day, fellas, I'm sending my unfinished manuscript over to WL Writer's Agency for reviewing.
Oh my. Even though I know it's gonna take them maybe as much as up to ten days to go through it, it's like... oh my God, I'm so nervous about it. I haven't been able to sleep properly for like, days, just cause I'm all worked up about it. It doesn't matter if they're going to send it back to me with a "sorry, this aint commercially viable" tag attached to it or if they say it sucks like hell, this is still the furthest I've ever gotten in my pursue of writing that book, which has always been my dream...
And is it really that strange that chasing dreams makes you nervous?
Even though you have no idea how it's going to unfold?
Of course not.
Howdy, says POET in the JAR.
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