SACHA BLACK

life

10 Reasons Why Being A Writer is Like Being A Parent

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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: [Read more…] about 10 Reasons Why Being A Writer is Like Being A Parent

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

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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. [Read more…] about Confessions from a Serial Binger – 4 Reasons Writers Need to Binge

5 Reasons Why Writers Should Be Secret Agents

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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. [Read more…] about 5 Reasons Why Writers Should Be Secret Agents

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

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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.