This Weeks Inspiration

*Shiny*

Looking ahead to the next act in my ‘notsoshortshortstory’ means looking into different areas of inspiration. I find various forms of inspiration throughout my life, some aspects are engulfed into the story as raw elements. Other more vague concepts are merely random musings which encourage me to write, with no apparent connection. There doesn’t need to be a connection. I find appreciation in all forms of art, literature, music… An advert, A song… Memories, stories, poetry anything beautiful, ugly, passionate and mundane.  Existing characters, famous tales or simply a sunset at dusk.  I adore discovering inspiration in the most surprising places and sharing my collection, may or may not provide any hints towards forthcoming events…

 

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“Farewell, friend. I was a thousand times more evil than thou!”
Michael Moorcock, Stormbringer

Anne Harrison 15.05.17

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Quotes and Pictures and Inspiration and all very Pretty Words…

Seeking inspiration to unblock the writers block … The Tumblr way…

… Sharing beautiful words I could find to light the way

 

 

Anne Harrison 07.10.16

Hidden Treasure

 

Please, click on me, I’m no ‘Ring’ like curse, I’m a Hidden Secret…

I’m not a video, so you’re safe, I’m a humble PDF of noble origins, a collection of images found, discarded, forlorn… I have a new home, with a pretty artist… But before my pages were passed on, I was scanned (misspelled) and saved to share…

Please, click on me: faily-tale-scans share the beauty of my hidden secret…

 

 

Anne Harrison 26.09.16

 

 

DISCLAIMER… The True Story behind the PDF…

I found the pages (only the pages) torn or cut out of the book long ago, discovered at a vintage fair for a few quid. I rescued them from being scrapped and had no idea at the time what to do with them. The pages have now gone to an artist friend of mine, but not before I scanned them… They date from 1958 and this is obviously not the whole book, I’m unsure of copyright procedures for anything so old…but I believe such artwork should not be hidden away, not buried like a dirty secret, but shared, all the old muted colours from the past, alive again. If I am wrong,  then I apologise…  I just wanted to share their beauty Xx

 

 

Perfectly Imperfect

A collection of five ‘really dreadful’ pieces of poetry …

 – With some mediocre photography thrown in to make the page look pretty

 

There was once a bookshelf, no two.
Their books stood tall and proud.
Colours danced upon their spines.
Words promised delights within pages,
musty or new.
Amongst the books of fantasy, magic & history,
there lived a collection of curious characters.
Friends to the books.
Family to the earth.
Their dance was one of internal light.
Hiding secrets amongst their edges,
their knowledge as vast as the books they live with.
(or more so)
Reflecting sunbeams, moonbeams alike,
in the settled dust of an old cover.
Figures stand, entwined between tomes and crystals.
Characters created through the vivid imagination
of their crafter.
Wood and coins.
Cock and shells.
Random collection, upon the shelves…
Once again I find myself in life’s limbo
Not knowing which way to go
I know love and I know hate
I know life passes at it’s own rate
Days Months Weeks Years
What to be done is neglected I fear
New dreams obstruct old
New goals drive me forth
Away from where I want to go
So I stand sitting on the fence
Watching waiting for life to make sense
To see my dreams come  into range
Though as bizarre as I feel my life maybe
I am the only person who is me
I do what I want it’s my choice
I have freedom will power a voice
Yet here I stand in limbo still
for now this moment is full of thoughts of thrill
I see in my eyes a change fall over me
Order in an organised mind
The plan firm and as clear as light
Get on and try as thy might
Now. Is the most precious time you have.
Not yet, Not then,
Now.
What are you doing?
Are you always planning ahead?
… worrying about what could be?
… worrying about what has past?
Mind locked in future or distant thoughts…
Now. It’s all the time you’ve ever got,
Past is past
Future, a collection of maybes…
Now is all we are
Thrown back in the need to move forwards
Too much attention to detail & need to be neat
Lead things to a halt
A standstill created by fear of scribbles
When in reality the fluid words flow easier without precise design
Words flow freely from my mind & from my pen
With an ease I find comfortable & relaxed without force
Without pressure
Just a scribble from the mind to the page
From the heart & with inspiration
Fuelling the need for freedom of expression
Without boundaries
I dance with the elements in their own realm
Travel beyond what I can dream
I’ve seen amazing wonders
So many different scenesMy very form has changed shape
My astral self transformed
Guided along my way
Even being reborn

My lessons are gifts
My soul awake & focused
I’m starting to see beyond…
… the frame of the picture

To a limitless boundless realm
With lifetimes to explore it’s infinite wisdom
I keep my feet firmly on the ground…
…and fly!

I am absolutely responsible for all questionable attempts at poetry and snapped the pictures on my humble point-and-press camera – any links will take you to my DeviantArt page – that I set up in the ridiculous name ‘Nikihix’ – for some obscure reason that escapes me now – I’m updating this old page so there isn’t much on there currently, so I wouldn’t really bother to visit because I have moved all my embarrassing attempts at photography over to flickr…
I’m not ashamed to share my initial attempts at poetry, basically because everyone needs to start somewhere, I have learnt (through my course at University) where I fucked up with these pieces and why they are considered no good. It’s a painful lesson to learn and one which will linger…  So why am I sharing something so dreadful?
… Because I can …
Anne Harrison 25.08.16

The Boook in a Blanket

In my Blog ‘After the Storm’ I mentioned the curious little gift I lovingly refer to as The Book-in-a-Blanket, and promised pictures…So I’m upholding that promise and posting something cheerful after getting myself all in a muddle over my broken words.

Perfectly crafted by a dear friend (who designed this concept) my Book-in-a-Blanket is a place for all my brain vomit, it is most cheerful, with bright colours and Zombie material. This is my writing companion, my loving friend, my agony aunt and store room for all funky snippets of information.

I’m considering sharing the inside pages of my manic scribblings… Maybe…

 

Anne Harrison 25.05.16

From Exploring the World to my Inner-World

I found an amazing amount of inspiration while I was away, then the enforced return to normality saw my mood drop and inspiration along with motivation packed their bags and left, ran away together fleeing the daily bus routes and the never ending pressing of buttons. I felt lost and empty for a while, as I struggled to adjust to my mundane life. Never before has 10 days of my life changed my life so much – apart from the exception where I was ill in 2013 – but that’s another story.

I think you get the impression, it sucked being back at work and I couldn’t be arsed with anything. However having said that I do love my job, I love where I live and I love my life. I just dip at times – Everyone does…

Moon, Mood, Hormones, Mundane, Circumstances, People, Politics, Money… There are endless causes for down days and as such I found myself writing a note to myself which I posted yesterday entitled Reading List.

Not only was I lifting my current gloom, I was writing again! This felt like a flood of relief, my words, as simple as they were, were still my words. I write sometimes and I do not know where these words come from, I write without thinking, by just letting them flow through me onto the paper. As some would say Reiki is channelled from a higher source through a healer, or other similar concepts.

I am reminded of a quote from ‘Eat, Prey, Love’ where Elizabeth Gilbert writes to herself in her darkest moments:

“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. If you need the medication again, go ahead and take it—I will love you through that, as well. If you don’t need the medication, I will love you, too. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than Depression and I am braver than Loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”
Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

I’m not sure I was doing the same thing or not? My words were more simple, I heard them in my mind, in a voice I did not know. They appeared on the paper unconsciously and once I read them back to myself I was reminded of the lines in a long poem at the end of the Nightwish album Imaginaerum:

“Dear child, stop working, go play
Forget every rule
There’s no fear in a dream”
Song Of Myself

Is it possible that my mind had subconsciously spliced together these two random influences to create my own inferior replica of sorts? … I honestly do not know …

For where do words come from when they pop into our thoughts? Outside influences are unavoidable as we are surrounded by information and technology throughout our waking days, which our mind records and soaks up like a sponge, even though we are unaware of this process and recall very little of everything absorbed. I have to wonder, is there anything really original anymore?

But at least these questions have awakened my dull thoughts, my words (however influenced) have inspired me to write once more and this heavy weight which had been dragging me down has been lifted. I would like to write some more about the marvelous mind, the squishy mass inside our skulls, though that is a blog for another day – I did say I had been re-inspired  – even if my mind does go off on various tangents at once… I suppose I should apologise in advance, for I have no idea where this adventure of the mind/writing will take us.

 

Anne Harrison 05.05.16

Nightwish – Song of Myself – Video with full Lyrics.

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Learning to Read Again

This is a personal blog today, to reflect upon my love for books, poetry and all things decorated up in pretty words. Learning to read again was possibly one of the most difficult yet rewarding goals of recent years, considerably aided by my University course and a graphic novel that I got last Christmas.

The ability to read, to focus upon the words and absorb stories was cruelly stolen from my mind, a lingering side effect from the TIA in 2013. It was this health scare which helped me turn my life around (which appears to be an ongoing long … possibly life long process of self development with brief episodes of ‘Meh’) the same health scare which spurred me to enroll in University in the first place.

I’m going to try and put my frustration into words. I have always loved reading, from an early age when my Dad read ‘Lord of the Rings’ to me as a bedtime tale. I collected books, novels, naturally, but also many books upon the Paranormal and the Supernatural. Anything weird and wonderful, mysterious and exotic. I read with a hunger, soaking up words, delighting in each morbid case. Then I lost it all, following the TIA, the simple of act of reading was gone from my mind. I would stare at a page, the same page for what felt like hours, I would look at the words, I knew what the words meant, I knew if I string together a series of words that they should make sense in that order, they would create a sentence and tell me something. I knew that, so why was I still gazing at the same word? Why was I stuck? I felt like there was this invisible barrier in my head, all the words went in, through my eyes, hit this barrier and splurggggedsssdsfg… Nothing, my brain could not translate words and my heart was breaking.

It has taken me three years to finish  The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski three bloody years to read a simple 300-ish page novel, the sort of shit that should have taken no time at all. Yet each word was like agony, I read and re-read pages, chapters, sentences… I gave up and for a long time the book haunted me like a ghost of reading past, mocking me, mocking my broken abilities.

The reading list we were given at University filled me with dread, I was struggling to read the handouts, class was like this jumble sale of ideas and chatter, a close knit of friends who adored to share knowledge and opinions without hostility and I flourished with this verbal exchange. However I could not work my slow painful way through a single novel, I improvised enough to scrape through classes with a vague understanding of each story, which only heightened my desire to re-read again as I was introduced to classics, old favorites and shit I really hated.

As a child one of my teachers thought I might have had dyslexia, one of the only teachers I had who didn’t think I was just ‘slow’… Though I moved home and nothing more was said about this in my new school and the idea was dismissed, it’s not something I know much about, but I do know that the use of coloured paper can help and this is how a graphic novel lead me in my own adventure back into books…

The images brought to life the snappy dialogue and brief narratives. There was just enough for my addled mind to read and I delighted in the action packed drama, all wrapped up in glorious technicolour. I felt like a big kid again with my weekly issues of 2000AD, thrilled that I could grasp a story without blankly letting the letters merge together into a puddle of nonsense.

I did not express my struggles to my lecturer, I’m not sure I’ve really approached this subject with anyone really, it’s not something I’ve ever felt comfortable discussing, or should I say admitting… I felt ashamed with my inability to read on a creative writing course, yet it also propelled me with some determination to get over this stumbling block. I mean the ability to read still had to be inside my head somewhere, I just needed a way to rewire the route between my eyes and the little bit in my head which translated the scribbles into scenes. Having the scenes there assisted this process and even though sometimes, when I get tired my brain goes blank and stops consuming words, so the letters dance on the page like a morbid mockery, then one simply rests.

I’m reading two books currently and delighting in every word in both, I’m buying new books and looking forward to delving into their pages, I’ve even devised my own reading list and branching my new found literacy discovery into various directions of genre. My passion has returned and with my desire for reading I am also writing more, even if only through the pages of my little blog.

 

Anne Harrison 18.02.18