Tag Archives: life

10 Reasons Why Being A Writer is Like Being A Parent

Today is my son’s 2nd birthday. Even though I’ve written this in advance, trust me when I say, I cannot believe that two years has passed. Time has always seemed to fly by, but its at moments like this that I really get shocked at just how much has slipped through my fingers without me being mindful. I look at him with his curls bouncing under 3 feet of body, yeah – he’s already over half my height!  I still wonder where on earth he came from, and how he can have been inside my tummy and yet, in two short years, talks and giggles and poops like a machine!

It got me thinking about just how similar being a parent is to being a writer. Here’s why: Continue reading

Confessions from a Serial Binger – 4 Reasons Writers Need to Binge

Confessions from a serial binger.jpegI never do anything by halves. I’m known for burning the candle at both ends and in the middle.

Well, reading, watching TV and my interests are the same way. I wish more than anything reading wasn’t included in that and that I read a little, consistently, everyday but I don’t have time and thats why my TBR pile is over 200 high. So what do I do?

I binge.

I sit for hours and zone out, ogling whatever the latest TV series is and indulge in episode after episode until I am so saturated with the programme or book series that I actually have to readjust when I put it down! When I’ve talked about this kind of behaviour before, there’s seemed to be a bit of stigmatism around the act of binge indulgence. I get it. It’s not productive in terms of life admin and chores, and it does brew a bit of laziness, but you know what? When I thought about it I realised that actually, it’s a kind of helpful thing to do as a writer. Continue reading

5 Reasons Why Writers Should Be Secret Agents

5 Reasons Writers Need to be Secret Agents

I have a habit of getting stuck behind my laptop screen. “Research” becomes a few hours of googling and reading. That’s great, but, after today I’ve decided it’s just not good enough. At least, not where I can help it.

Maybe you guys are all already pros at getting out of the house and experiencing first hand all the things you write about. BUT, I write fantasy, dystopian or science fiction stories – some of the stuff I write about doesn’t even exist. It’s not an excuse but I definitely slipped into the habit of googling rather than experiencing first hand. I know it’s not always possible to travel to the other side of the world, but here’s 5 reasons why I think when you can, you should experience first hand. Continue reading

I've Lost My Mojo Baby, Yeaaah

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I really hate January 1st. It’s the ultimate come down. You partied hard the night before, fuelled by booze, contagious enthusiasm and ever more ridiculous resolution promises. The night seemed alive, 2015 was going to be THE year. It’s your year, your time and your chance.

What a load of shit.

Woke up this morning, feeling more bloated and fatter than ever, with a raging hangover and more resolution promises I will break before the end of month. Stepped on the scales, didn’t I?

WHY, did I do that?

Now ELEVEN pounds heavier than I was in August.

Fuck January. Fuck my life.

January 1st – berroca in the morning 11am hangover starting to disappear, better make an effort – healthy yogurt and bagel for breakfast. By 1:45pm I’d eaten chocolate, hated myself for eating it so ate more to console myself.

F***ing January. I’ll start tomorrow!

Looked at the insanity DVD pile with enough hatred to send me straight back to the chocolate drawer for another round of “stuff my face and hate myself some more” I’ll start insanity tomorrow.

Looked at my beautiful treasured Mac laptop lain unused for the entire Christmas break. Not a word written, not a thought for my assignment nor my much in need of an edit WIP. Looked at it, hated on it. Then hated on myself for slacking. I’ll start tomorrow.

Looked at the calendar, only 3 more days off till I go back to work. And the awful realisation I’ve wasted my entire precious Christmas holiday doing sweet fuck all. Something I can’t abide – waste. Spent most of the first week off being ill with a stupid cold I couldn’t rid myself of for a month. Happy to say the last two days have seen it finally bite the dust. But still. I hated on myself some more for behaving like the thing I hate – a waster – sleep is for the weak!

So where did it go? When did I lose my mojo? It’s been gone at least a month. I have no motivation AT ALL. Not to exercise and lose the weight I need to, and not to pick up my technological pen and write.

How do you get motivated when you and your mojo are lost?

Maybe you should tell me tomorrow?!

Spiralling Down

One week. One week back in my cesspit hole of a job to feel myself start to tip off the side of sanity all over again.

I hate it. I hate my job so much it infects me. It putrefies my thoughts and tears tiny bits of my soul away, day by day. I can feel myself erupting on the inside over nothing. Something someone says, an insignificant remark makes my mind seethe and my blood burn with angry lust.

I am becoming scarred with bitter frustration.

I am broken.

I have a new boss, and he asked me this week after hearing my story if I had any fight left in me.

“you do don’t you… have fight left in you?” He asked me expectantly.

I just turned my head away. Biting back the tears.

” I don’t know”

And I really don’t know.

My old boss stole my confidence, and crushed my creativity.

” The thing is Sach…” He would say patronisingly.

“You got a big personality. You just need to be a bit less Sacha… you know?”

Cunt.

He hated me. He hated what I represented and made sure I knew it.

I am disgusted with myself that I could let a man beat me down and crush me the way he did, the way work has.

He left, but I have given up. I have nothing left, no fight, no drive, no ambition.

My entire being is bruise and I am exhausted.

I am Sacha, and I am beautiful, but, I am utterly broken.

 

Sacha Black Creations inc.

There comes a time in life, when you are tired of thinking about your dreams, your sick of pondering about some far off future life you might have if only XY or Z happened. If only you could such and such.

Life’s too short.

So, I stopped bullshitting myself.

Only I can change my life, only I can do something about it. I need to stop waiting for something to happen, or waiting to be head hunted, or waiting to land on my feet. That doesn’t happen. You (I) need to open my own doors, and create my own opportunities, and that ain’t guna happen sat on my arse thinking about what I might or might not do.

If I am ever going to seriously finish this novel, or make any extra money, or have a creative job, or be a millionaire by the time I’m 35 I need to stop day dreaming, get off my slightly chubby backside and do something about it.

So I did.

I only took a tiny step, but it was a step nonetheless.

I have a studio.

It’s and office, come art studio, for all Sacha Black Creations. I am going to devote half of the space to my novel enterprise, and the other half to my art.

Its wonderful, and I cannot wait to get in there properly. To be honest, it’s probably a little more than I wanted to pay, but the space is bigger and I cannot complain, the light is fantastic, and the ‘feeling’ I got when entering was electric.

I went into another studio they had for rent, and I hated it, I was so disappointed and thought that I wasn’t going to find the right space, but then she told me that she had another space. It was more money but she had it if I wanted to look at it. So I did, and both the wife and I had massive grins as soon as we entered. You can just feel the creative juices oozing out of the walls. I am SO excited. It took me all of 2 seconds to decide. We both knew it was right instantly. That can only be but a good sign.

It’s 80 square foot. So about the length of my car both in width and length, as it is a square, and currently it is a square, and a total blank canvas…

*rolls up sleeves*

I will post photos of it as I decorate. But below are images of it as a shell… The person/dog in the photo is not me, its the owner of the studios… not that you can tell.

There are 11 artists in total, which is lovely because it means that I will have other artists to bounce off too if ever I hit writers/painters block.

Welcome to Sacha Black Creations… (I think thats a good company name… maybe I will call my company that!)

p.s. The studio is bigger than it looks in the photos, my camera phone hasn’t done it justice.

Lesbian on Autopilot

Do you ever get that feeling that life is passing you by, and theres nothing you can do to engage or grab hold of it before it disappears?

I like to think of it as ‘autopilot’.

Its not really your friend, but sometimes you need it.

The irony is, hopefully this post written last night is on autopilot and will have posted automatically at some point around lunchtime tomorrow today.

As I have already established I am failing miserably at all aspects of my life at the moment!

I have mush for brains.

Anyone ever seen click? (the film) Essentially, he has a remote  control that controls his hole life and he can fast forward, pause, turn down etc etc parts of his life. He ends up wasting it and fast forwarding through all the goods bits as well as the bad.

I have way too much on. It’s stopping me being a friend, a daughter, a girlfriend, and a person.

Autopilot is also dangerous. I LITERALLY nearly killed my girlfriend last night.

We were trying to clean up the house after a weekend of wedding related shenanigans and for some reason I thought it was a really good idea to put three rolling pins on top of the highest cupboard in the kitchen.

Rolling pins roll.

Clearly didn’t think that one through.

The gf was sat on the floor doing girlfriend like things, and as I reached up to get something from behind the rolling pins I inadvertently knocked the rolling pins off.

With a disengaged brain I was unable to think of the word ‘move’ quick enough to scream it, so I just screamed some nonsensical gibberish word. Luckily enough she moved her head in time and only got her arm bashed.

But seriously what was I thinking?! Or not thinking more to the point.

Today I found myself having driven from one work location to another with literally no idea how I got there. More to the point I realised after I had just come off a roundabout, and I wasn’t even sure if I had looked in the right direction to check to see if anything was coming. I still couldn’t tell you if anything had been coming. Obviously not because I didn’t get hit. But not really the point

I must be on crack. I could have got myself killed!

I seriously need a metaphorical slap in the chops to snap out of autopilot. I might be having an existential crisis, but I sure as hell ain’t suicidal!

I am not sure where autopilot comes from, but I am going to blame mine on

a) the existential crisis

b) wedding brain. I liken this to something akin to baby brain. Clearly never having kids I have no evidence for this, however, I am emotionally unstable, practically senile, on autopilot, and lost any ounce of what little common sense I had.

c) the Molotov cocktail of painkillers (trying to numb the week long headache) and the glass of wine I keep necking when I get in from work.

Speaking of, I think its wine o’clock…