Broken Words

 

you can stare at the screen for as long as you like and still it remains blank…

 

the words are there

you know they are there

they have been running around your thoughts for days

you can picture the scene

hear the voices of your characters

they push into your dreams

they play in your daydreams

lingering on a long bus ride

 

but

 

sat before the screen

the words flee

the scene fades

words slip from your fingers

their voices silent

everything is distracting

focus scattered

 

sit

 

i have an hour

i had an hour

time dwindles

still i stare at the keys before me

qwerty mocking me

another lunchtime escaping creation

 

confused

 

even non fiction is fuddled

a change of direction

failed

im still sitting here

still sighing hard

 

watch

 

half my time is lost

and these words

are all i have

my fiend

 

im using the delete key more than i care too

words are written

then deleted

gone

 

i know the scene is there

i know what happens next

i know what i want to write

i know ill be on twitter instead

 

giphy

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Anne Harrison 09.06.17

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beyond Writing

Personal Blog, art musings …

I’ve actually found a little time today and earlier on in the week to dust off my old paint brushes and pick up where I left off earlier this year with a series of abstract paintings. The joy of waiting so long between building up the stages of the paintings is that I can drastically change the whole appearance of the work.

By that I mean I’ve been cutting up a lot of what I’ve done and rearranging by weaving the designs together, creating checkboard patterns of various colours and textures… in theory… because in reality I really haven’t got a clue what I’m doing most of time, actually, all of the time. You see, I’m no artist, I don’t even pretend to be,  I can’t draw and I simply mess around with paint, acrylics and watercolours.

I’m in love with texture and colours, patterns and shades.  I adore various mediums and despite not having a clue what I’m supposed to be doing. I tend to make a glorious mess.

Among  my passions I delight in visiting art galleries… just as music/novels/movies… I do not hold a singular genre in favour. Preferring to explore many known (and unknown) artists alike. Travelling to London and Liverpool to explore exhibitions. I’m inspired,  though I lack any skill or talent. I paint, like I write  (or sing) not because I’m any good, but because I simply love too…

Having no burning desire to be something I’m not really gives me the freedom to enjoy what I do for my own pleasure… if nothing else I’ve made a glorious mess and had fun doing so…

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Anne Harrison  29.05.17

Wednesday Wonderings

 

This is me Today

Compliments are a pleasant surprise, I am humbled when I get a lovely message from someone saying how much they have enjoyed reading my work. It doesn’t happen very often and I don’t fish for comments. I just write because I love to write. I already know that it is far from perfect and it’s not destined to be anything more than scribbles on a blog. Because I write for fun, not for fortune, not for fame.

I have a little following here, which is very comfortable, these are my invisible audience, my friends, those I address freely without fear of judgement, for this is my safe haven, my corner of the internet where I can discuss personal thoughts along side fiction and if you’re really unlucky, my dreadful poetry.

Thankfully I have had some lovely comments from friends and strangers alike, which encourage my words, I’m inspired to write and my silly little story flows freely from my mind to the screen, my fingers carefully finding the right letters on the keyboard to create the words I’m thinking… It’s all a weird kinda magic if you think about it…

I wonder how far my words travel, I wonder what inspired people to follow my blog, I wonder a lot… I know that there are countless other writers out there in cyberspace, all seeking an audience, most far superior to my own humble attempts. I read plenty of other blogs with sincere admiration this casts doubt upon my own wild hieroglyphics. I badly need to edit, yet because I write straight from my thoughts, the whole editing process kinda gets sorely neglected. I am wordy, overly wordy, but inspired by Lovecraft (among others) I adore collecting beautiful rolling words and long expressive sentences. The words are there to be used after all..

My Self Doubt is born from a fear of judgement, it follows me throughout various aspects of my life (a significant example is my weight) my self doubt craves approval and security, pacified self doubt is transformed into peace of mind and all this can be turned around by a few kind words… there is so much power in words, they can destroy or they can elate.

I think it’s important to be kind with words to others, for you never know what is hidden under the surface and how the right words might just clear their own clouds of self doubt and ignite smiles…

Maybe one day I’ll face the dreaded editing? There again, maybe that’s not my ultimate goal and I shouldn’t worry so much over what I wonder?

A few ponderings over my lunch-break today to share with you.

 

Love Anne 17.05.17

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

There’s nothing so cruel as memory

*Person Musings*

 

As a child, my first experience of being humiliated and disillusioned was a painful experience at Sir Jonathan North. I was deeply passionate about history, I wanted to study history and either be a historian, librarian or work in a museum. That was my goal, my fascination with ancient cultures… Especially the Romans, meant that I had collected a fine display of Roman pottery and coins. When we covered this era in history class, I was beyond excited and chose to take my collection to class to share in a ‘show and tell’…

Well that was a disaster, my class ‘friends’ mocked my collection… Calling the whole thing a waste of time and boring etc…
My bubble was burst, I was disheartened and at that point neglected my life goals, feeling humiliation and bullied…

My passion became a dirty secret, I lost a lot of the pottery (because it reminded me of being bullied) but somewhere in my heart the ancient Romans refused to let go of my interest…

So when the chance arose to visit the dig site in Leicester last weekend, I couldn’t resist, waiting an hour in drizzle and cold with hundreds of others, for a glimpse of Roman Leicester awoken some of my passion, but also a fair deal of humiliation.

However it has thrown into light an interesting concept in my mind, how one painful experience changed the whole direction of my life, because I was bullied for something I loved… Had I not took comments so personally, had I shrugged off such negative attitudes, would I have never been bullied for so long?

Had I just ignored them, would I have followed my dream, fulfilled my goals and become an academic? How different could my life had been had I reacted differently to one singular event?

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Anne Harrison 15.05.17

The magic of the Mundane

…Is that even possible?

 

To embrace normality, to enjoy every day tasks, to look forward and have fun at work… That might sound potty, to find comfort in all things dull and boring. However, as I can now reflect without anxiety upon events of last Wednesday, here I am one week later, finding joy in sitting at my desk. Please forgive me if I can not explain in details the circumstances which have caused so much distress. I fear that I do not know who is reading my work and although my blog posts are shared on Twitter and Tumblr only and not Facebook (where I know some trolls live) I am still reluctant to talk freely for fear of any further explosive outbursts.

In other words, I am far too intimidated to complain.

So I have been cryptic, I am vague, but even these few words are all aid in my processing events and regaining some measure of myself once again.

This I have found in embracing all the normal every day shite which is usually mindbogglingly boring. I am fortunate that I really love my job, so being back at work is refreshing. I’m back at University class, surrounded by good friends and immersing myself in a language from a culture I adore. Even my daily bus route feels comfortable. Slowly I am becoming more of my old self again.

This shock has also ignited something else I feel I have neglected in my life. My grief. Instead of refusing to accept this emotion, I’m actually starting to accept the fact that I do miss my Mum and I need to allow myself to grieve, that it’s alright, it’s not something to be ashamed of.

Maybe sometimes a unpleasant situation might awaken deeply buried feelings? I don’t know, I’m not an expert on such circumstances, I’m just plodding along at my own pace, finding my feet again, putting life back together in my own way and accepting new emotions that have arisen. Writing helps me put all these cryptic clues into perspective and although it might not be interesting reading for you, you beautiful cupcakes that read my mad scribblings, please trust me, this, along with my mundane tasks, it all helps me to shine once more.

… And a shiny Anne means more stories…

Thank you for being there, where ever you are, whoever you are, just thank you for being you  x

 

Love Anne Harrison

03.05.17