Apparently, I am au contraire, against the grain, unusual, unique, multifaceted - a bit of a 'Sybil'. But the good thing about that is, I often collaborate with my inner selves to bring unpredictable elements to my writing.
What you'll find here is humour, diatribe, sentiment and introspective - whatever takes 'our' fancy.
Friday, 17 August 2012
My writing journey over the Alps
An oldie, but this is actually taken of me up the the Swiss Alps
As I wandered through those Alps; arduous, never-ending, I encountered
many an obstacle along the journey; reached icy plateaus demanding I go back
the way I came, to re-tread paths that I thought I'd conquered, and becoming stuck
there, sometimes, exhausted, to simply hibernate in a cave, a lone wolf, naïve,
hungry, no oasis to quench my thirst.
And I wonder why,
for sometimes I'd thought it was
pointless, sometimes still, as well. And besides, there was a road that I could've
driven, as others do, a more direct route, smooth and simple, undemanding, crossing
boundaries with ease, apparently, and
all that should be an obstacle.
But what would I know of the mountain at all, the intimacy of
its spiritual essence, its disposition, for those would've eluded my grasp, the
magnitude of pride and honour that commands to be scaled?But my passion intrinsic, my
sensibilities committed to the nature of the beast within, like no other I
know.I'd soar that mountainous
terrain, sprout wings, learn how to fly, yes, and pass that old road by.
And when I did start out on that venture, blind at first, nocturnal,
skulking in the dark of night, eyes eager, flashing; green, then red, so green, and then so red, a young wolf, arrogant, treading ahead without observing
the lay of the land, those very rules dictated by the head of the pack from
which I chose to stray to charter new territory with maverick way, and where
sense was the only thing to be found on sheer cliff faces that scoffed and told
me to turn around.
And I did, discovered trails to at least pinnacles low, and clambered
upon them, scrambled, my body, exhausted,
starved, depleted, resting there till dawn when I could survey my domain, all
that I would claim to know.But when
daylight broke, my imaginary reward; that vista, hazy, still, an early morning mist lingering on a precipice, a gaping
mouth to swallow me whole, still, daring
me to find a foothold to climb to the limit of the sky where an abyss of
imagination waited to be soared, or to plummet me to a bottomless pit of no
And catching sight of higher peaks off in the distance, my name
whistling between them, I reached a treacherous terrain of which I knew better
now, jagged, unwelcoming, infinite, detrimental to body and mind, but inviting all the same, challenging,
goading me all the while, in that I did not have strength, dared me to continue
that quest at my will, at my peril, threatened that it'd eaten stronger than I.Yes, easy to hitch a lift, that road
right there, beckoning.But what of
respect; of staking my flag?No,
that road has no end, no honour, no destination where I would go.
Forward, the only way, the hard way, and as it should
be, lest I lay down and died, lest I relinquished all that I could prove myself
to be.And so I ate but a berry or two along the way, to sustain the
body that feeds my mind, as I dragged it across a rocky terrain of high and
low, my latent madness to accompany me, hearing it whisper all the while, encouraging,
but mocking me all at once, confusing me, as I inched forward, for I could only inch, to reach out and grab that,
which came into my sight.
Yes, I summoned that strength instilled in me from another
terrain, another madness never mine to claim, but of which I suffered, conquered
against the odds to return me strong, that brought me to my battle here today, where,
at last, I may reach, on hands and knees, dizzying heights of a pinnacle of
which I may breathe thin air to leave me breathless, for through my blindness,
the very pain of my vision, I see vistas, laid out before me in pastures bright,
and a mossy hill to roll down upon that will stop me at the feet of a couple of
Sherpa's waiting at the foot of the Himalayas.But I don't need them
"Fuck off Sherpas," I said.
The above post started out as a blog post about my writer's journey, it was only meant to notify my readers that an end of an era is here; in that I have actually been able to put the words, 'Final Edition' on my Prickly Scots titles. Many will know that I have written many other stories since, but Prickly Scots has seen me through the years of my training, was the first book I wrote as an adult, initially, without any kind of training, and has been rewritten and rewritten time and again the more my skill evolved with the necessary training and by gaining experience as a writer - my Golden Gate Bridge, if you like.
However, over the last few weeks, the entire book got yet another overhaul, each chapter lovingly edited three times each, to try and implement something of the writer I am today - a very hard task when you have to deal with all the errors and rookie mistakes of your previously amateur self; I could've written a whole new book in this last month. And I found while doing it this time, that I knew it would be the last, I didn't actually need, or want to change it much at all - a first. That of course, as easy as the edit was this time, brought me to a realisation, of how far I've come these last seven years; from the early days of joining an amateur writing site, where I started to understand more of the formulaic aspects, onto becoming top writer there, to the writer I am today, who has garnered the attention of some pretty important people, including, recently, a highly respected international best selling author who sent me a lovely message based on something else I wrote, and told me that she had purchased one of my books. Humph. Now, if that doesn't mean that I've scaled a mountain or two, then I don't know what would. I can only hope that it might hold up to her expectation.
Again, Prickly Scots Pts I & II are finally complete, if you have either of these, or the collective volume, please update your copy on both Amazon and Smashwords (especially if it’s a really old one, my Godplease do that!) and make sure that the copy you have says 'Final Edition' under the title on the first page.
Finally, not only did I complete Prickly Scots', but also earlier this year, I revisited my entire body of work, and brought it all up to scratch too, so, if you own any of my other books, they all may be updated (even if they don't say Final Edition) for they are all far more sophisticated than their early editions were - and beautifully formatted and indexed too.
I have no choice now to get on with all my new stuff now that my babies have finally left home. I might even go out in the sun, and... oh yes... I found a little puppy under my desk.... his name is MacGregor, apparently.