To be Literally Literary

I exist in many worlds, in my head and in person. I am of one that craves to stamp words on air or on paper to make reality out of feeling; I am a writer. I am also one of nostalgia, I constantly seek it as an emotion to remind me of who I am, where I have been, what I was. I am also one of dreams, the relentless movie creating of a hopeful and colourful future; I thrive on future goals and projects to fuel my fire. I am also of one that in fact, denies convention as a life map and instead I embrace the magical, the unknown and the 'other-worldy' and consider it all far more possible than what appears before my very own eyes.

I love words. One of my favourites is 'whimsical':

whim·si·calAdjective:

1. Playfully quaint or fanciful, esp. in an appealing and amusing way.
2. Acting or behaving in a capricious manner.

I am incredibly fanciful and I highly enjoy being so. I have the world perception of a hippy. I have the heart of a healer but guard it with the shield of a knight. I am Earthy and love to craft with my hands...I'm not afraid to graft. All of this makes me happy, but it confuses me too; the need to be all of this and the need to make a living can often repel each other - but not always. I know plenty of like-minded souls who exist through their creativity, it buys them their home and their holidays away.

My thought processes are spatial, not linear and so you see, it becomes a bit of a problem when I need to write in lines (how else?).

I wrote this a few months ago and it stills stands as my ultimate yearn in life:

A Plea to My Dormant Self

I spit my soundless words up at the sky in the hope that clouds will catch them and rain them back down on me, awakening my skin with cold breath.

A fellow friend and writer put it up on her fridge and that's the best response I could ever have hoped to get.

But if only I could wear my words like a ball gown; it would be opulent and dazzling, one with delicate detail and layers that descend the stairs before I do. I'd wear it everyday. It would become me and I it, it would be what I have to show the world.

And so, in my desire to live this world that combines my need for words, for spirituality, for knowledge, for craft, for dreams I've been brainstorming projects and have landed two solid ideas to make my future a rewarded existence. Solid ideas but not solid in practice...but soon to be revealed. And for now, I've been granted the chance here in Bali to put my words to good use: by translating French text and rewriting in English for one person and afterschool tutoring English for the eight-year old son of a friend. That's plenty to be getting on with for now, but it's not quite enough for this fanciful, dancing-in-the-forest dreamer.

I had a hypnotherapy session recently...I wanted to know what my blocks were, what fears I had lurking in dark corners of this forest dreamland that is my mind...what's stopping me from writing fervently, incessantly and throwing it out there like a frisbee for some editor, publisher or agent to catch. I regressed to a past life and worked through the lessons of that brutal Medieval time and was encouraged by the hypnotherapist to heal the root cause. But now I'm bursting at the seams with narrative and there isn't enough time or an adequate tool to manifest it with.

Funny how I was also recommended this novel by the same friend who put my words on her fridge:





I adored it. It made me feel everything I want to feel when I read a piece of literature. It made me see everything I want to see when I am given the opportunity to create a picture. It is also a story that parallels modern day with Medieval times. I devoured it in two days and it has made its way into my top ten favourites of all time. This story speaks so much of me that I am devasted that I didn't write it myself...but it prompts the question: which story is mine?

What I am also gutted about, is that I won't be in London for this:

http://www.worldbooknight.org/

A night-time event at The Southbank Centre that consists of candlelit readings on the terrace (including Mark Haddon reading his new yet to be published novel), comedy, spoken word, free cocktails and a mass giveaway of 10 titles. I am getting tearful at the laptop just thinking about this amazing event that I can't be at. Seeing as though I'm so fanciful, I'll just hope that I'll astral project myself there for it. Or, someone attend it for me, tell me how great it was and bag me a free book?