Tag Archives: dreams

Writespiration #52 Dormiveglia

Dormiveglia

I think a symptom of being a writer is having vivid dreams. Perhaps it’s more a symptom of having an imagination, all I know is I have always had surreal dreams. I know people who have had dreams that replicate daily life almost completely. I am not one of those people. My dreams are more like a Dali painting! Which is why I knew I needed to use this as a writespiration, I do so love a Dali!

Dormiveglia is one of those words that can’t be translated into English, I used a welsh word recently Hiraeth as another inspiration. Dormiveglia is an Italian word and it means the moment between wakefulness and sleep, or sleep and wakefulness. I heard somewhere that this is where Dali drew his inspiration. He would sit in a reclined arm chair with two marbles in his hand. When his hand relaxed just as he fell into sleep his hand would relax and the marbles fall to the floor. Waking him and allowing him to record the oddities his mind gave him during his Dormiveglia.

So this week, use the concept of Dormiveglia to write a few lines, a story or a poem, whatever comes to mind. Here’s mine: Continue reading

Write Tips #1 Scene Lists

heller

I am going to run a series of writing tips posts, and a series of writing inspiration posts. As an aspiring writer myself, I am constantly researching and reading other peoples blogs and tips, so I figured why not share the nuggets of wisdom I’ve found for all the other aspiring writers out there.

Scene Lists –

When drawing up your novel structure, something to think about is a scene list – akin to an outline – it helps to formalise the order and details of your scenes – in order. If you use a spreadsheet or table it also makes it super easy to rearrange them. Plus when you need to quickly remember your story – or certain aspects this sheet will provide an easy to read, easy to navigate summary for you.

Key things to include in your scene structure:

  • Chapter title
  • Chapter number
  • Summary sentences of content / key action points
  • Proposed word count
  • Actual word count
  • Scene location
  • Any foreshadowing

Theres a link here to nine famous authors scene charts.

Writing

800px-Stipula_fountain_pen

I am attempting to take more time for me now that I am beginning to get some semblance of routine back into my life. With work just round the corner an the end of my maternity approaching, I am trying to think more about myself and where I want to go. I don’t want baby black to grow up with a miserable mother – just because I carried on doing a ‘job’ that pays the bills. I want to be a role model for him, to show him if you want something bad enough you can do it, you just have to work hard. So, now I have a fixed laptop, it is time to crack on with my writing course. Incase anyone else fancies themselves a writing course you can find it here.

So my first assignment, and piece of writing I had to do was a piece of descriptive writing. I thought I would share it with you. It was an observational piece, and we had to choose somewhere of interest and describe it. Feel free to comment if you like:

In the distance an aeroplane rumbled, and I strained to find the contrail jutting out of its rear. Unable to see it, I meandered down the twisted wisteria walkway instead. This was the aisle I was meant to walk down on my wedding day. Sighing, I stroked one of the baby branches arching over the walkway and was surprised to find it furry and covered in moss; my fingers tingled at its touch. Its elder looked down watching it grow, bark as wrinkly as a grandmothers.

The gravel crunched under my feet, as I continued down the path. I halted as I glimpsed a hint of the pillar-box red oriental bridge in the distance. Veering off the walkway I headed towards the bridge to stand at the edge of the lake, I heard the quacking of a pair of ducks paddling in the pond, and the roar of a waterfall pounded the jagged rocks surrounding it. Staring at the pool beneath the waterfall, I wondered whether mermaids lived in the murky midnight blue depths.

I stepped around the end of the walkway into a huge open space covered in a blanket of green grass. It felt like I was entering a magical world. A towering pagoda stood peacefully amongst the trees and boulders around it. If you listened hard enough you could almost hear the clip clop of geisha shoes, and the flapping of kimono fabric in the wind. Poised at my feet, stood a single flower flecked with pink ready to battle the first frosts of spring like a samurai preparing for war. 

I inhaled deeply, and the sharp air cut my throat as it whipped my fringe into my glasses. I pulled my jacket tighter to protect myself from the chilly air and walked through the dewy grass towards the aged mansion at the top of the gardens. I placed my hands on the filigree garden gate, and shivered as the icy metal bit my fingers. A delicate spiders web quivered in the breeze lonely without its eight-legged owner. The stately gardens behind the gate were pruned to perfection, with chess shaped bushes and neat lines surrounding the majestic fountain centerpiece.  

Springs first sunshine kissed the mansions sandy colored bricks. Terracotta turrets bulged out of the roof, and evergreen coloured ivy crept boldly up the walls.  I walked away imagining wartime evacuees waving behind the mansions enormous square windows and running through the great rooms inside.

 

 

 

Tales of Advice

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The thing is, we ask for advice even when we don’t really need it, don’t really want it and then, we don’t really follow it!

I have a bee in my bonnet about this because I annoy myself asking for advice.

Why do I do it?

I… Infact WE all already know the answer. Don’t we?

For example:

Should I go out tonight?

Even though your asking with a little wry smile you already know your going, so why do we bloody ask?

Should I eat a second bar of chocolate?

No Sach, of course you shouldn’t, because once you do, your guna be wracked with guilt over the calories you have guzzled, feel guilty, fat and then reach for a third bar to console yourself – why do I do it? I just shouldn’t ask because I already know the answer!

The real irritation I have with asking for advice is really, deep down, we’re all just looking for self justification. It’s kind of arrogant! We want everyone else to agree and justify what we want to do, even when we know it’s a bad idea.

Oh what should I do? – my (fictional) boyfriends cheated on me… again – should I take him back? I mean he is really sorry this time.

Why can’t we just be confident in our decisions? In what we already know we are going to do. Why do we pretend and deny that we haven’t made our minds up?! The moment I ask for advice I’ve already made my mind up. I know it, whoever I’m asking knows it too. Yet we both persist in dancing around the perpetual advice fence: you justify whatever course of action you really want to take, and the person giving advice rolls around the reasons why it’s a bad idea.

What’s the point? Waste of air.

AND…. Even when we do get advice we never bloody follow it! Humans are awful at following advice. We all give it, and even when we ask our dear friends what they would tell themselves, we still don’t follow it!

So – I decided –

Fuck advice, I already know what I want to do….

I have been searching for the right writing course for two years, the course to give me the right knowledge to finish my novel and kick start what I hope will be a writing career – my dream.

Why I thought to ask whether or not to do it I have no idea. I only got annoyed with what I heard, because really, all I wanted was confirmation I was doing the right thing, and who can actually give me that? No one but me!

Yes it’s 350 quid, but I can pay it over a few months, yes I have a newborn. But so what. Who do I actually need to justify it to?

Does having an infant mean my life goes on hold? That my dreams stop?No. More to the point, if I did put my life on hold, what kind of role model is that for my child? Do I want him to learn that you can be lazy and find excuses not to follow your dreams? Or do I want him to know that he has to work, hard, play hard and never give up….

So, I’ll ignore the pessimism, stop asking for advice and do it anyway. My money, my time, my choice.

I might be, covered in sick, soaked in pee, stinking of baby poop, slightly delirious, and temporarily daisy the milking cow, but that doesn’t mean I can’t follow my dreams…..

Even if I have to do it one handed, smelling of baby fluids and caked in puke. Failing that I’ll do it in the bath once the boys asleep!

The insane Asylum – A bizarre dream!

This is for artofstumbling, I love how she writes down her dreams some of them are fascinating, and seeing as I had a particularly bizarre one last night, and I don’t usually remember I thought I would write it down!

I am not quite sure if I was working in, or a patient, but I was in an insane asylum.

The walls were white, and there was a long corridor filled with white doors, at the end of the corridor was a circular room filled with doors, these were the bedrooms, and in the centre was a couple of sofas.

I was in the circular room with all the doors, and there were some doctors in long white coats standing with flip charts discussing patients, I stared at them for some time trying to over here what they were saying, but I couldn’t.

I heard a loud banging as a door ripped off its hinges. I turned round shocked, and the largest man I have ever seen lumbered out of his room. He must of been nearly 8ft tall. His body enormous, and cut with muscles so large he could easily crush my head in his hands. His skin was tanned and sweat was rolling down his biceps. I stepped to the side to allow him to pass, and he looked at me as he walked passed.

I don’t remember his face, just his enormous looming stature towering above me.

I watched him lumber his way down the long white corridor. He stopped turned to face me and nodded. Then disappeared up the corridor.

I could hear screaming and shouting coming from the frantic doctors behind me. I watched their slow motion moves throwing the clip boards in the air papers flying everywhere and running after the huge man.

Before they could run in front of me, I bolted down the corridor and skidded to a stop in front of the door the lumbering man had gone through. It opened into what looked like a big social room that was being turned into a modern church, rows of seats either side, tradesmen hunched over working on something on the floor. The towering man just stepped over their wide eyed stares and continued walking towards the blue door at the back of the room.

He smashed it open, and a wave of warm stuffy air filled the room. Outside was dark, but there were a few twinkling lights. He stepped outside.

I found myself looking back at the blue door from outside, there was a wooden balcony running all the way round the perimeter of the building. It was night, and we were in the desert.

The man ran off.

This part of my dream is hazy, but I know some time passed.

I found him in a seedy american motel, I think he was probably raping and torturing women, thats what it felt like he was doing, although I never caught him at it.

At this point a man, a doctor – the head of the asylum, walked in front of me and headed straight toward the rapist. I flittered between watching the doctor, and being the doctor. His words were my words, but I was watching him say them.

He spoke to the tall man, and calmed him down, convinced him that he needed to come back to the asylum,

“you need to come home son.”

The tall rapist nodded and walked back to the asylum with the doctor. It was daylight now, and I could feel how weary I was getting.

Suddenly, I was in a long narrow garden, with funny stone squares planted in the floor. The long garden was littered with green plants and pebbles. I was a the top of the garden with the doctor and another women, and behind us, was the army or some similar ‘authority’ the soldiers were dressed in army greens and holding shiny black weapons.

Infront of us was a low lying arch, the other end of which was the real world. Inside the arch were a couple of pills, and half a mannequin of the body and breasts of a pregnant women, but no arms or legs.

It was a rebirth canal. The patients who got better has to be reborn into the world to start their new lives.

The army people were questioning the doctor and a box of pills he was holding, they wanted them, wanted his secrets. But the doctor wouldn’t give them to them.

The doctor, now me, was explaining what the pills were, the garden was flooding but the army hadn’t noticed.

I threw the pills into the flooded arch to save them and watched them disappear. Chaos ensued and I woke up…

 

 

Depression. Muses. Life.

muse

I am feeling worse than ever. I saw the above picture today, and I just cried. For me it’s such an inspirational picture. It takes me back to when I was travelling. Reminds me of the breath taking Himalayan mountains I trekked through. The peace I found when I was there. I want nothing more right now than to run away and climb into a big dark hole, hiding away from the world forever.

I want to be that girl in the photo. I should be that girl in the photo. All I ever wanted to do was go to uni and go travelling. Bum around the world for a while, sucking life experiences in and just ‘being’. No responsibilities, no plans, no cares. Coming from someone so anal, and organised I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed travelling. But I really did find a kind of peace when I was away. A kind of silence. Like the silence late at night when it’s snowed or is snowing. When it’s 1am, and nothing moves not even the air… Travelling was my muse, it inspired me, it humbled me and it gave me peace.

I am a shell, a living breathing carcass right now.

The last year has crushed me.

I don’t think I even know who I am anymore.

The stress of my family during the wedding, the job that has sucked every ounce of individuality out of me and forced a monotonous drone of boring beige routine into my life, and worst into me…. but worst of all the fertility issue.

I have been in and out of depression enough over the last 18 months because of ‘life’ but right now… it truly has to be the worst place I have been in…

I just cant cope.

My senior manager told me the other day that he couldn’t believe how well I was coping. He said no one would notice that something so horrific was happening to me. He said that I was really strong, and he was very impressed with my resilience.

It’s a facade. I am a fake. A plastic temporary smile, that I wear for 8 hours a day that drains every last ounce of anything I have in me.

He shouldn’t be impressed. He might think I am still brilliant, I am coasting through the days just to keep myself going. I am on autopilot… again.

I just didn’t picture my life like this, when I think back, this picture, that girl… that’s who I was going to be. I think that’s why the photo has struck such a deep resonance with me.

I have started testing my ovulation again today… when I ovulate this week, we will be flying to Denmark to try insemination.

The wife is so positive that it scares me. I already feel like a failure, my body… my ovaries are inadequate and I don’t want to disappoint her if the insemination doesn’t work. It only has a 25% chance of working at the best of times, let alone with my problems. I am also worried because I have been trying to be really healthy, but I seem to have got a cold this week… that is not going to help me get pregnant… more worries.

Then the thought of actually getting pregnant is also terrifying. All the life changes, I am still trying to get my head around it all, giving up everything I thought I was going to have, that was who I was going to be in my 30’s… not in my mid twenties. The next 5 years were meant to be fun before we tried to have a family…. I just can’t get my head around it. I just can’t. Why hasn’t someone told me it’s all a big mistake yet? WHY?????

I just…

I am in a very dark, very strange, very lonely place right now. Words are failing me, I just can’t explain where my head is. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to do anything. I can feel myself locking down, and shutting the world out and theres nothing I can do about it. I can’t muster enough ‘me’ to talk about how I feel. I don’t fucking know how I feel. That’s probably the problem. I don’t have words. The complexity of emotions I am feeling right now is indescribable.

I feel bad because I know I should be communicating, but I just don’t want to talk, about anything to anyone. I don’t want to have to justify myself, and I don’t want to explain my feelings. I just want to be quiet and for it all to go away. I want to wake up in the morning and be that girl in the photo…

But I won’t.

I am going to wake up… still be Sacha, still be depressed, still have a job I hate, and still have fertility issues.