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


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

When You Credit Yourself as Unknown…

People are amazing,  we don’t know how strong we are. We go through life with mundane every day chores, bitching nagging complaining and moaning about how shit shit is with our eyes closed we blindly accept this fate.
But the world is an incredible place, everyone has their worth, just as every critter. The chances of life are remote, we have an awesome gift and a lot we can achieve if we focus beyond the negative. The world is not all sunshine and lollypops. But if we can find inner strength to improve our own lives and the lives of those around us, who knows what we can achieve?!  – Anon

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,
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

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

Inner Monologue

Me: I want to write a story, something horrible which will churn tummies and ignites trigger warnings… Something nasty…

Brain: Why?

Me: Because I’m in a nasty mood and generally pissed off with this week, the state of the country, the world and life in general.

Brain: OK, since you put it like that, lets forget reality and try to think of a nasty tale.

Me: Deal.


Me: So… Haunted house?

Brain: Done to DEATH… Comeon, do you want me to list every example?

Me: Humph… Haunted Asylum? School? Castle? Forest? Fucking Ice Rink!!!

Brain: Nope, nope nope nope and nope… What are you thinking?

Me: Thought you were the one supposed to be thinking!


Me: So… possessed child?

Brain: *screams internally*

Me: Possessed Item!!!

Brain: Pffffttt…

Me: *Sigh*

Brain: Chocolate?

Me: Chocolate!!!


Me: OHH… I know… Demonic Car!

Brain: I’m not even going to bother to reply to that!!

Me: Comeon brain, we need to work together, we can get through this writers block and think of something remotely original…

Brain: How about this for a horror story – A middle aged woman, who has had a rocky past decides that maybe it’s not to late to do something to improve her life, put all those grotty years behind her and look ahead with new promise, a fresh shine and a healthy outlook on life. Full of promise and wonder, venturing forth with her trusty cat companion!

Me: How is that a horror story?

Brain: Well you see everything is fine at first, then things start to slip and slide… Goals are neglected, ambitions ignored and naughty habits start creeping back into life, too much chocolate and puddings, all that lovely hard work trashed!! Until doubt and lack of confidence become all consuming… Waking up every morning at 5am with good intentions only to lay in bed for another hour mentally fighting with herself to move and always, always, always, ending up with the same hallow promise that tomorrow will be different, tomorrow she can start again and really do it this time. Meanwhile she surfs for inspiring images, quotes and hints and tips for making all the improvements she desires. The media enhances her insecurities, she is haunted by images of perfection that are totally unreachable as she is not an 18 year old model, but a middle aged woman with years of neglect clinging to her thunder thighs. Every morning, every day, every week 5am… the same hallow promise… Like an evil version of Groundhog Day… Where all good intentions always diminish in the face of cake and a new DVD series… More wasted days, wasted evenings, internally fighting with her own mind until…

Me: Until What???

Brain: Well you see the story doesn’t end there…

Me: … What shall we call this little tale?

Brain: … ‘The Story of My Life’ …



Anne Harrison 01.07.16

If You could Turn back Time



  • I hadn’t eat that whole packet of Jafffa Cakes last night?
  • I had learnt to drive?
  • I never given up my home?
  • I moved to Oadby instead of Birstall?
  • I had stood up to bullies?
  • I actually paid attention in class?
  • I had chosen a different career path?
  • I had ever been a mother?
  • I had said NO!

The questions we could place on the end of a ‘What if…’ are countless, from the mundane to the life changing events – where you actually feel in your heart that your life will never be the same again. We collect ‘What if’s’ on a daily basis as we constantly make decisions and choices, from hitting snooze to catching a later bus, even miniature details may swerve your path.

If you could turn back time, if you could alter one fraction of your life, would you? Could you? …and how would this improve or destroy the life you have currently?

Of all the deep and meaningful theories and concepts that could be cited at this point, I am instead reminded of Arnold Rimmer, of Red Dwarf and Dimension Jump… When we are first introduced to Ace Rimmer, an alternative version of Arnold from a parallel universe. Where one decision, one simple choice turned the characters life around to become quite a different person to the Arnold we’re used to.

The episode begins with a young Arnold Rimmer being told by his mother that the headmaster at his school was considering keeping him back a year. Having received the headmaster’s notice in the post, she emphasises what an impact the decision could have on Arnold’s life.

Years later, in a parallel dimension, another Arnold Rimmer exists. Commander ‘Ace’ Rimmer is a test pilot in the Space Corps: he is heroic, charming, good-looking, intelligent, popular, brave and modest. He eagerly accepts a mission to test-fly a dimension-jumping prototype spacecraft despite never being able to return. After saying farewell to his friends, Ace departs and initiates a dimension jump.

Forget science and philosophy! Comedy covers this theory just as perfectly…

If you could pick one point in your life where you could change your decision and alter your whole life path, would you? And if you could, just which single moment would you choose? Out of a whole life’s worth of living (thus far) all those moments that make up who we are, is it even possible to single out one lone situation to change? Even if you return to that singular point in time and steer events in a different direction, would it make matters better or worse? These really are hypothetical questions are there is no way to manipulate time (currently) even though time itself is an abstract concept, created by mankind to mark the passing of astronomical  movements within the universe around us… (That’ll be the sun and moon dudes)…


I like to think of time as a spiral… Seriously though don’t ask me why (that’s another whole blog right there) But just look at this shit ^ it’s really pretty!


Now, back to reality, you know when you have a really good idea for a blog, start writing, you’re in the flow then just run out of lunchtime. So you save your work and return to it the next day only to discover that all your thoughts and ideas has scattered from your mind, you like what you’ve written, yeah this shit is cool, I can work with this… but… Nothing… no words have popped back into being and my train of thought has left the station without me… But I’m going to post this shit anyway… You might like it, or may not? Because I’m lost as to what to write next… Maybe I can pick up this thread again after the weekend? Or maybe my whole concept is gone for good?

This is the problem of being a writer with a messy mind…


Anne Harrison 01.07.16

Broken Thoughts and Wrong Words

So I spent most of my lunch time yesterday working on a blog that I thought would be interesting and informative. I attempted to express an intelligent opinion and used myself and my own circumstances as a counter position to my argument. Yet no matter how much I wrote, re-wrote and starred blankly at the screen, I just could not get my words right. For some reason (I cant explain) somewhere between my brain and the keys, all the words got themselves in a jumble and what I read was bullshit. I’ve scrapped it, it’s shit.

I can not write like a blogger. I follow all these glorious blogs which are beautifully articulate with immaculate presentation and detailed thoughts, enhanced with links and images to express their words.

Oh not me, I just sound like a crazy cat lady, maybe a little bitter and twisted when I compare myself to the world around me, but ultimately I sound like a ranting loon!

I’m starting to feel like my writing is inadequate, my ideas inferior, I’m doubting myself and my abilities because I am always seeing my work in comparison to others work and I always view others work in higher regard than my own. I have this ‘I’m not worthy’ complex, which has haunted me since childhood, with constant school reports of: “Must try harder” “Could do better” “Fails to concentrate” “Constant daydreamer” … Following years of bullying quashed by confidence to the point of non-existence and despite putting all that crap in the past, I *still* believe that I am not worthy. Though I’m not exactly what I should be worthy of and why I need to constantly compare myself to others?

I am NOT a writer, but I LOVE writing… But I cease writing as soon as I lose confidence in what I am trying to write. The result of this is more than a dozen half finished projects, shelved ideas, foolish daydreams and an abuse of the ‘delete’ key.

I use blogging pretty much like my journal at home, to scribble ideas down upon a theme I wish to express my thoughts about. Generally I just write drivel and end up more confused than  when I started. Recent events have shaken my resolve a little, I’m feeling a little lost and self conscious. But I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details…

Suffice to say, I’ve deleted what I wanted to write, I’ve written what I wanted to share and even though I am feeling a little fragile today.. There is always tomorrow and besides, maybe venting on the page might help clear my thoughts? Or maybe I shouldn’t really give a shit about (what I think) others think about? But then I would cease to be the complex and insecure individual I am.

Once my confidence has been restored I go back to being my glorious fabulous self and you would never guess at the hidden brain worms which make me feel shit about myself and my writing. So I’ll shut the fuck up before I bore the pants off you and go and get myself chocolate… Because… Chocolate!!


Anne Harrison 29.06.16