The Creative Imposter

I am in love with the arts, my passion expands beyond writing,  I adore painting,  but I am no artist.  I try to take pretty photos, but I am no photographer.  I write possibly each day, but I know in my heart I shall never be published,  my art will never grace the walls of any gallery,  my photography will never be found in any magazine and my next project will probably amass to nothing either.  Basically, because it doesn’t matter…

… I crave not fame and fortune,  I can not adhere to the strict ‘rules of writing’ I use far too many words, I tell don’t show… Instead of show don’t tell… and I use far too many dots all dotted around the place in dot like chaos…

I write,  I draw, I paint, I snap photos because these are things I love to do and mediums I admire.  I attend talks by poets, who can stand before an audience and share their words beautifully,  I will travel the country and even abroad to visit museums and galleries to witness displays attend exhibitions of world famous artists and also find local artists hidden in pub attics in small side streets… falling in love with the colours and lines, the words, a dance… inspiration surrounds me, I find beauty in the mundane, a leaf in a puddle becomes a boat for captain ant and his band of merry pirates.

My love delves into music, though I can not play an instrument (yet) I love the world within movies, books, stage and screen,  comics, heroes,  villains, aliens, the macabre, the tortured souls trapped in pages of a dusty novel.  The unknown,  the supernatural,  the inner realms of sincere spirituality…

My name will never grace anything more than this blog and that my friends,  is enough for me …


Anne Harrison 11.02.17


Destroying Negative Thoughts

*true story*


i burned my journal at the weekend
it was pretty and pink and crammed full of negativity
i tore pages free from the spine
with thoughts in my mind - words cant define

i burned my journal and destroyed my thoughts
self hatred and insecurity plagued the pages
false promises and longing - that were not mine
the constant illusion of perfection

i burned my journal to free my mind
a mind taunted by media images
a mind obsessed with being slim
a mind overthinking

i burned my journal at the weekend
it was pretty and pink and horded black words
i had become a slave to the system
i saw only flaws - i manifested my own hate

i burned my journal and gave hate to the flames
pages curling and blacking
words set free to the fire
that night i actually slept


Anne Harrison 17.10.16

Pop Art

Tumbling down the Tumblr hole and finding you’re not as strong as you think you are…


i saw an image today
i watched - it did not move
just a lone image upon a screen
one of many - but single to me
despite all horror and gore
the made up shit that is nothing more
sometimes reality leaps back
and turns your stomach inside out
memories you would rather forget
scenes which question strength
pain wrapped up in stitches
tears stain the bathroom floor
i click - close the page - open anew
and write
words flowing freely as my tummy tumbles
feeling emotional
without the strength to cry


Anne Harrison 07.10.16

The fading remains of a non-memory

I had been crying in my sleep, I know this because I awoke with dusty eyes, itchy and glued eyelashes. The fading remains of a non-memory swiftly leading my morning mind.

I had spent my dream in deepest distress, I had lost a baby yet I was at a wedding trying to be happy for the newly weds who were expecting. I don’t know where I was, this was one of my dream realms, where I know everyone, but none exist in reality.

There was a shadow, this shape which followed me throughout my dream, guarding me, watching me, because I could not see anything beyond my crippling torment.

I felt my belly, it was empty, hollow, like a broken eggshell, the life within stolen from me, leaving me shattered and running, running and searching, seeking the lost… Like it was something outside, beyond, reachable … But totally out of my grasp…

I awoke, Casper using me as a springboard, between the window and his awaiting food. Joy stirred, glared disdainfully that her beauty sleep should be disturbed by thunder paws.

It was 10 minuets before the alarm was due to go off and I had been crying in my sleep…


Anne Harrison 22.19.16

My Pitch


Struggling with body dysmorphia, Simon reverts to extreme body modification to recreate his image. Facing prejudice and judgement from family and strangers alike, Simon embraces an underground subculture which helps him develop his physical image of perfection. Yet the mental demons still torture his mind.

Morphing Simon

Written: 2/24/15

    As the only male in a house full of women, Simon (17) is surrounded by his mother (Sally-Ann Marston) and three sisters (Rebecca, Louise & Abbey) with their never ending dieting attempts, exercise trends and frequent failures. Causing Simon to become neurotic about his own body, this paranoia grows with the uneasy decisions of career, college or university.

He sadly sinks into depression, feeling rejected by his mother, whose main concern is the forthcoming wedding of his eldest sister. (Rebecca – 24) The dieting becomes paramount in the house and Simon turns to self-harm as his grades suffer. Ceases to eat for days on end then binges and purges and finally drops out of college. Much to his mother’s disgust.

Simon hits rock bottom when he attempts suicide, his mother is furious, accusing him of being attention seeking, risking ruining Rebecca’s wedding. However, Simon’s youngest sister (Abbey – 16) supports him, even sharing a naughty little secret. A cheeky cherry tattoo at the top of her butt.

He is diagnosed with body dismorphia while recovering in hospital and it is during this time that Abbey introduces him to her boyfriend (Frog – 28) a tattoo artist.

With the mounting stress over the wedding of the year, their mother has little time for Simon and his silliness. During a dress fitting, the cheeky cherry tattoo is spotted by the eagle eyed mother and all hell breaks loose and it is Simon’s turn to support Abbey.

[Need to include background information about the father]

On his 18th birthday Simon inherits a substantial amount from his late father’s estate. Which he promptly uses to get his first tattoo from Frog.

Over the following months (building up to the wedding of the century) Simon becomes heavily addicted to tattooing and piercing…

On the plus side:

  • He develops a strong relationship with Abbey
  • Frog becomes a father figure to him
  • He starts to eat properly, seeing his body as a canvas
  • Something to decorate instead of punish
  • His friendship circle expands
  • He becomes interested in art

On the negative scope:

  • He is dreadfully bullied because of his appearance
  • His mother & eldest sisters reject him
  • He is shunned by society
  • He is rejected from college and university
  • His career options are limited
  • He is beaten up by Louise’s boyfriend

[These events need to be presented in a juxtaposition]

Simon becomes unrecognisable and is finally banned from Rebecca’s wedding. Which is when he leaves home and moves into Frog’s spare room.

His body dismorphia is transformed from self-hate to a craving to develop perfection through the use of extreme body modification. Expanding beyond tattoos and piercing and moving into branding, scarification, sub-dermal implants etc…

He has a powerful vision during a suspension experience, where he sees himself as perfect, the last modification he craves is a tongue split. He also meets Molly at this event, a timid Goth chick, known as Mog-Mog. Quite plain by his extreme appearance, yet she is drawn to him and they develop a fond relationship.

Frog offers him work in this tattoo studio as an apprentice and helping to run other suspension events. Simon’s life starts to flourish, even though the relationship with his mother is strained.

Instead of getting his tongue split professionally, Simon attempts this procedure himself and accidently cuts through the lingual veins. He faints, the wound untreated causes him to bleed out and sadly his body is discovered a few hours later by Frog.

End Scene – Simon’s Mother, standing with his sisters at the grave side. When Frog, Abbey, Mog-Mog and many other weird and wonderful tattooed and freakish friends arrive to pay their respects for a very loving popular young man.


Anne Harrison 15.19.16


I realise I have not written in a while, neither blogging or fiction, but my little pink book has been collecting the never ending scribbles of a mind/life which feels currently trapped in limbo. Circumstances currently are limiting my freedom and although this is just a temporary situation, which I have no objection too, I still feel a little lost in life until everything gets back to ‘normal’ … ish …

So me and my little pink book make plans together, we analyse, we criticize, we  sympathize and we look ahead, for looking behind was starting to destroy my peace of mind and looking ahead forms a clear path beyond the chaos.

I’ve enrolled in a writing class, Word Salad, which I am absolutely looking forward too, that inspiration to write on a regular basis and develop my rusty skills, have fun, create beauty with words, or vile horror… I wonder where this new adventure will lead?

But can I juggle words with language? For I am a fool to myself (and my bank balance) all common sense must have fled my mind, as I have also enrolled, again, with Leicester University to learn Japanese!  These two courses I am looking forward to working through along side each other, one may influence or distract from the other or they may compliment each other…

I have been bold, I have reached out for something to direct me after I escape this limbo. This, and a recent (see this morning) insult, have actually added inspiration to push myself further, to reach beyond this current stillness, to actually question each fragment of my life and see a challenge instead of a stumbling block.

You know, I actually don’t want to be a famous writer, I don’t want to be an expert in any field, I have pretended, I have attempted to lead, to guide and advise… But in recent years I have cast off my old self and the fake ego which I have used as a mask to hide my depression. A frail soul disguised as something I was not.

I am happier without this ego, happier to begin again, to start from scratch and learn all new shiny adventures along my way. Life is more peaceful without the need for false faces and insults, instead of hurting, have spurred me forth instead.

Limbo will lift, in time, I know I have a ‘to do’ list longer than my life span, but at least this way, there will never be a dull moment…


Anne Harrison 13.09.16

In Prose:

Anne’s Final Essay … First Draft … 

A personal reflection on Creative Writing

Once upon a time (for that really is the best way to start such tales) there was this crazy lady, who, following a life threatening illness, decided in her ultimate wisdom to do something she had never done before in her life. Enrolled at University.

Little did she know that this impulsive decision would throw her headlong into an academic adventure that would last two years and result in gaining some very good friends. Along the way her little brain was subjected to rather some baffling use of language and a vast array of information, which she wasn’t sure would fit inside her head. At first it felt like she had found a platform where she could unleash all the lovely twisted little characters which lived in her imagination upon the world, but soon came to learn that there was a lot more involved than simply scribbling on paper.

For a while she felt totally out of her depths, struggling to tread water and keep her head above the surface, each word, each sentence was finely constructed in order to keep with the daunting rules and regulations which were slowly smothering artistic desire. But she was determined to soldier forth, sometimes burying the need to scream (for that would have been most noisy) but mostly because of stubbornness, no one expected her to succeed and she had to subdue her own self-doubts.

However, there was an amazing abundance of inspiration. Little characters in different genres came out to play and she ventured forth into different styles and all new exciting writing experiences. As well as reading a vast quantity of literature that was totally out of her comfort zone.

Yet this inspiration blasted her world wide open, beyond the classroom, beyond books. These lessons inspired our shy heroine to explore the theatre, dance, poetry, art, screenplay and local events. How exciting it was to find a trail of breadcrumbs that lead from one subject to another and how these all in turn slowly began to influence her own writing, going full circle.

Though this point of the adventure may have drawn to a sad closure, this has been a starting place for a wider range of experiences and the journey continues.


A.M. Harrison.

Finding Balance, Even when the Rope Sways…

Life can be a tightrope act and an impressive juggling act, mostly juggling as much as we can whilst also trying to keep our balance… I should join the circus!

However, before I dribble on endlessly about how to get through each day, getting shit done each day without having a major (or even a minor) wobbly regarding ‘issues’ I have touched upon in earlier blogs. I first need to apologise. To myself and to my friends here on this page… I realise I have not been writing as much as I would like to and that my rather maudlin blog last week was, well, rather maudlin… Though at the time I used this space to vaguely express my thoughts, yet instead I feel like I’m making excuses for failing to write.

Last week I also finished up by Boook-in-a-Blanket, this was my head space, where I collected all my mind vomit, ideas, wild outrageous plans and poisoned thoughts… I ran out of pages and I felt like I had ran out of a safe zone. Even though all I had written within these crammed pages was nothing more than nonsense, it was my nonsense!

Binder1.pdf Blanks

So between maudlin about ‘issues’ and ploughing on through life a day at a time, I then came across the short note I posted yesterday. A very simple few lines which consisted of nothing more than a list of events on a lovely sunny Saturday a year ago.

Such power words hold, such magic in their arrangement. They can create relief from the darkest gloom, inspiration, motivation or even destruction… And they can even manifest the desire to build upon existing words, to trigger the reunion between pen and paper, with happily lifted spirits, my will to write has returned alongside all those mundane chores, ‘issues’ and juggling along the tightrope of life.

Evidence that it may be the smallest things which can make such a difference…

… Such as very tiny delicious cakes!!


Anne Harrison 09.08.16