Week One Recap

I want to write, but I also want to stare out the window and watch the world go past. Everything is so different yet also the same. So beautiful yet so mundane.

There is a unique way each country reflects the norm. Buildings are individually designed yet hold the same function as elsewhere. Houses, shops, office blocks, shrines and restaurants decorate City streets with uniform lines and effortless grace.

Leave behind the population and twisting roads lead out into a wildside untouched for time immeasurable. You can clearly expect living history to appear around the corner.

Mountains so high, so beautiful. You can witness the birth of clouds, lift from the treeline to embrace the sky.

I’m in awe

Yet feel homesick

I want to explore

Yet miss my own bed

I have so much to see

But I want to see my Dad

It’s the little things you crave and just everything surrounding you, that you want to drown your senses in to fully absorb the reality of adventure.

Anne Harrison 08.07.18



Finally! time + WiFi =chance to write…

It’s been impossible, to find the time/energy to write since Saturday and I think it is now Friday. All the days have merged into one huge adventure and I’m not even half way through my shenanigans.

To try and stay on track with the daily blog from day 182 (onwards) I am going to have to back track and post more than one blog per day for a short while until my days and numbers marry up once again.

The last six days have been incredible and exhausting. I have blisters on top of my blisters. We’re experiencing the effect of a typhoon, but it has done nothing to diminished the adventure.

I don’t want to write too much, because I still need time to absorb my surroundings and I have this weird detached from reality feeling.

So, how about I share a few photos of my trip so far, then attempt to process my feelings and translate them into words…

Anne Harrison 06/07/18


I don’t know what to write today.

I feel a whole cocktail of emotions circling within myself.

Writing has always helped me focus through these phases before, but this time I can’t go into detail. (currently)

I’m like a little puddle of anticipation and it’s stolen my ability to write.

Part of me wants to keep everything to myself, to play things close to my chest. Another part of me wants to shout from the rooftops, to brag and boast and dance with glee.

But I’m holding onto this unreasonable guilt, feeling both greedy and selfish for wanting to celebrate the amazing things in my life.

Perhaps I should throw all caution to the wind and be free with my emotions?!

… And perhaps I shouldn’t use so many clichés in my mysings?!

Anne Harrison 30.06.18


180 Wasted Days

Editing old work has helped me see just how much time has been wasted procrastinating on Facebook in the past – letting it get under my skin and sinking a circle of ‘just 5 minuets’ to ‘where did the last three hours go?’ … Especially when you’re working on a piece aptly entitled “Each passing Moment”.

Part of this quest for balance in my life has been to see where I am wasting time – where I am doing too much and learning to relax. It is an interesting juggling act, but so is life in general. I believe balance is an abstract concept and the answer is to be mindful in regards to all three. As well as identifying the difference between wasting time and relaxing.

However, this is still an ongoing process and through writing daily I am starting to understand myself better – I’m healing (within and without) and I can start to focus on areas of my life that need attention.

So why ‘180 Wasted Days’ – it has been 180 days since New Year – 180 Days to focus on goals and achievements – 180 days Wasted by distractions and lame excuses – Imagine how much could have been achieved within that time if it wasn’t for self doubt, lack of motivation and simple laziness.

Sometimes you need a significant reminder to see how life is slipping by – how excuses are pointless and by looking back over the last 180 Days can help you look forward to the next 180 Days – Yet this time head forth with motivation and by day 360 – I might have achieved half of what I would like to – with is half more that what I have done in the last 180 Days.

I wont get those 180 Days back – but I have managed to write something – every single day… (So Far) – the next two weeks might be tricky – but that’s a tale for tomorrow…  However in the meantime – I think I must be the only person to edit a short story and actually manage to make it longer!! – Are there no end to my skills?!

As of Today – You have been alive for 16,311 days.

How many more will you waste?

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Anne Harrison 29.06.18


Each Passing Moment

Practicing Editing with an old Short Story

Ichirou Takahashi glanced at his watch once again, growing more irritable with each passing moment another look at the $105k Hublot Tourbillon Solo Bang on his wrist indicated that time was running out and this heavy traffic only added to his frustration. The meeting dragged on for longer than he would have preferred and although the company take over was a perfect success, as he smugly anticipated, the lingering pathetic begging from the former Director General proved to be both embarrassing and a total waste of time. Better to roll over and give it up, when the Takahashi Enterprises got their talons into a business, they would assume control in the shortest measure of time it took to draw up all the legal papers. Ichirou clenched his fists as the traffic continued to crawl along, he knew he should have took the helicopter.

“Gyosha! Find a shorter route!” He snapped, sitting back and deliberately pulling the sleeve of his made-to-measure designer suit over the expensive watch and allowed his mind to wonder. There was still time before the danger zone, where serious egdeplay could cost his Otetsudaisan suffer permanent injury, or worse. Absently he pondered over who was the actual Dom in this arrangement? Then the Bentley surged forwards turning down a narrow side street speeding more swiftly to his luxurious estate on the outskirts of Osaka.

Smiling smugly as he crossed his legs to enjoy the rest of the journey, safe in the knowledge that he should arrive home now at exactly the correct point in time. Most of the pleasure that he took from this scenario was the fact that he could totally and utterly control an individual without even being in the same room as them. That he could master Otetsudaisan from his office, boardroom, restaurant or squash court and she would still be exactly where he had left her, waiting, anticipating, eager to serve. It was all about ultimate control.

Though there was but one limitation and this is where Otetsudaisan held the power to reduce him to submissive. For he always had to return within a strict time restriction and this was her ultimate control over him. Any longer and the point where actual physical damage would start to become more permanent increased with each passing moment. He was always perfectly on time, he had to be in control.

As the Bently rollled up outside the gates of his estate Ichirou regarded his watch one last time, to comform what he already knew with confidence, that his timing home was to his usual perfection. He paused as the car halted by the glass doors to his sanctuary, watching the second hand circle the face. He had to be that precise and upon the appointed moment pre-arranged carefully calculated he finally exited the car to return to Otetsudaisan.

To find the glass entry doors shut and locked in his face. He frowned in utter confusion and in his ignorance tried several times to get through the polished glass barrier, a little to the amusement of Gyosha, who wisely kept his smirk hidden away from his increasingly frustrated boss.

Ichirou had never known his house to be locked up, his security system was so highly evolved that he had never felt the need to lock anything, except his safe. There was a keypad to the side on the wall by the doors, numbers to a code he had never used and a slot for a key-card he didn’t have on him. In fact he did not recall ever owning a key-card to his estate. His confusion swiftly changed to frustration then to anger.

“Gyosha!” He barked, “Your key-card, now!” Ichirou turned to face his driver, who wisely wiped the amused grin from his expression swiftly and just as swiftly he began to search himself and the Bently for anything that resembled a key-card. Though he could not recall ever seeing one or being handed one, he would not have the authourity clearance required to have the permission to own one. Yet still he searched in a vain hope that Ichirou had left one in the car for such emergencies.

A small ‘beep’ from that tell-tale watch indicated that time was up! He had failed to return to Otetsudaisan in the correct measured time limit and now she would be facing true harm if he did not get into the house soon.

Gyosha started to panic, aware that he would have to admit failure to his boss, but there was no key-card in the car. Ichirou glanced over to him and Gyosha was forced to reply with a hopeless shrug unable to help. He wondered how the key-card would work without the code, but wisely kept his concerns to himself.

“Go around the back, see if the back door is open, find Uekiya, see if he has a key-card!” Ichirou shouted commands at the shameful driver, who quickly bolted to obey, eager to please after his recent failure. Running across the immaculately manicured grass, through sculptured trees around the back of the estate. While Ichirou paced across the thresh – hold, waiting, impaitence growing, nerves developing, occasionally his watch added insult to injury as it beeped with each passing moment.

Finally Gyosha returned with Uekiya, but neither servant could aid their master in his prediciment. Uekiya was the gardener, and as such he would not have the security clearance required for access into the house, he was permitted to attend to the garden alone. Neither did he have keys for the back door, but he was able to inform Ichirou that the balcony doors to his personal suite were slightly open and suggested a ladder would easily reach these.

Another ‘beep’… Ichirou could not afford to waste time with ladders and stunts, he knew his driver to be armed, of cause he was Gyosha also doubled up as security.  “Shoot the glass!” He yelled. Without hesitation, or questioning why the option of a ladder was dismissed, Gyosha fired at the doors, it took several shots, but finally the reinforced glass shattered.

Ichirou stepped over the carnage and both Gyosha and Uekiya started to follow. Ichirou turned sharply, “Wait here!” he shouted and ran the rest of the way to his personal quarters on the first floor… each passing moment only adding to his anxiety.

Kinbaku is a nobel and perfect art, it takes time and precision to get the asanawa rope perfectly lined up and the correct knots to restrain a woman in a erotic and immobile position. It was an art Ichirou was passionate about, a skill he had developed over years, yet there was also a real danger to the human body when held in a set pose for too long, escpcally since his styles also incorporated some measure of autoerotic-asphyxiation.

Gingerly he approached Otetsudaisan, she was still where he had left her over an hour ago, perfectly tied and bound in a ‘Kataashi age tsuri shibari’.  She was still, very still, hanging limply in strong bonds, her body heavy and stiff. Ichirou felt bile rose up in his throat and panic swell in his stomache as he reached out to touch her face, her long hair was elegantly bound int othe knot work, but her lips here blue, eyes starred ahead, no breath came from her form and it was clear she had been dead quite some time.

Ichirou frowned as he looked closely at the fectures of the dead woman, it took a few moments to realise that it was not Otetsudaisan. He swallowed hard, confused and still in a panic. For this meant that he now has a stranger hanging, quite dead, from his ceiling. Although he had no doubt his influence could make this whole situation vanish as though it had never happened it did raise a few questions.

Looking around the room, he noticed the door to his safe open. That was when he heard the Bentley start up and speed off down the drive, as Otetsudaisan, Gyosha and Uekiya fled the scene, the reality of the situation dawning on Ichirou with each passing moment.


Originally Written 17.12.15


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Anne Harrison 28.06.18


More Nex Notes


Working from old notes is starting to resemble some form of treasure hunt, I’ve found something else, in the middle of something else which followed the second part that has not been edited – I think – but before the random Chapter 9 from nowhere.

Perhaps it would be wise to adopt some form of structure?

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… Or, perhaps that is a little too formal for my incredibly scatty mind? I’m not sure I could be that organised… I’m impressed I’ve managed to find this small collection of scattered randomness – and you wonder why I call myself a ‘Pretend Writer’ ?

I think I need to invent a new term to describe my disorganised sense of reality:

“Patchwork Peddler of Mysterious Mayhem”

… I might need to work on that idea – along with every other idea crowding my mind …


Anne Harrison 27.06.18


I am an Enigma to Myself

I’m back to pretending to be a writer again, enjoying the rediscovery of an old plot I had put together a few years ago, working with the (professionally) edited document to help me edit the second part (posted yesterday) so that it reads more smoothly – Even though I had written it initially to appear to resemble a series of reports – I don’t think I mentioned that yesterday, or that this concept comes across in such a way?

This is why I’m only a pretend writer and usually give up all hope in my abilities/stories, resorting to more diary entries in my daily blog – or if you’re really unlucky – you might get subjected to my really bad poetry.

However … there comes a time where I totally confuse the hell out of myself – where upon I can’t even begin to explain my logic … Such an example of this insanity, I discovered while searching for Part 3 (which doesn’t appear to exist) instead I found this:

Chapter 9
The Price of Defiance

Nex raised his rifle to his shoulder and cocked his head to the side to get a clear view down the line of sight. He counted down his mind from five to one; on the count of one he kicked open the door before him finger eager on the trigger. Those within the laboratory yelped and froze as the soldier burst into the secure environment, followed swiftly by a dozen or so other troops, rifles raised, waiting for the order from their Commander.

Nex hesitated, it was a split second decision and a decision based on the image of the woman before him, chestnut hair, scraped back into a high bun. She blinked just as startled as Nex.

“Hold your fire!” He shouted, splitting the uncomfortable silence.

“What the fuck?” Boland swore, their orders had been clear.

“Nex?” The woman frowned.

There was a moment of static, ear pieces buzzed with urgent instructions trying to regain control of the unpredictable situation.

“I…” Nex began to speak, but his words were lost as


I mean, honestly, how (and why) is it physically possible to leap from Part 2 – to Chapter 9 with nothing in between – There are no written notes, no scans, nothing typed up – no end to the last sentence – I just put together half a random scene, set somewhere in the future of my story… This is an utter mystery to me?

Clearly, everything that takes place between the scene I posted yesterday and my curious Chapter 9 is somewhere in my head – no scribbles fill this gap – but for some reason this particular scene was significant enough to start – but not significant enough to finish …

So, where do I go from here? – The future is a bright and mysterious place, yet to complete what I want to work on I must delve into the past – into the deep dark recesses of my mind to try and weave together the missing parts of the plot…

Note to Self:

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Anne Harrison 26.06.18