YOU

 

Now we’ve all been there, tired with life, tired with the unknown, and just generally tired. It’s like you want to take action but just don’t know where to begin. You ask the universe for a map, pray to a god – or two, in the hope that some form of guidance will manifest. That the path one seeks will finally appear like it has been there all along but you couldn’t see it because it was drawn in invisible ink just to fuck with you. And sometimes we just want help from someone we can call a true friend. All I knew was, as I readied myself for bed and pulled on a white t-shirt, XXL, for comfort of course, was that I had had enough of the hardships of life. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes seeking refuge from reality and comfort in the dreams that danced behind closed eyes. And as unconsciousness slowly crept upon me a final thought/wish was spoke. I wish someone would come and alleviate me of this burden of not knowing what to do, where to go or who to be. I wish that someone could show me the way.

The wind howled outside and a lone branch rapt against Tom’s bedroom window as if clawing to get inside. If you were to look through said window – two stories above the ground – you would see a man sleeping on a single bed in a neat and tidy room, not especially different to any other. Yet on this very night you would also happen to catch a glimpse of something magical and out of this world. For as Tom slept and his chest rhythmically rose and fell, a bright yellow light, the colour of the centre of a candle flame, appeared above him in an orb like form. At this stage many would probably be well and truly freaked out and would try and alert the relevant authorities. Which is understandable, we may be a generation raised on Harry Potter but we are also a generation that is highly sceptical of the unexplained and unique. However, if this small glowing light had managed to unfaze you then you would have been able to witness it slowly descending down towards Tom’s chest, and then seemingly melting into his body, until it penetrated his very heart – like a ghost through a wall. No doubt you would have had many questions, but due to it being a windy and stormy night, I would encourage you to remain calm and remind you that you are two stories off the ground and looking through a stranger’s window. You don’t want to create a scene and wake the neighbours and then have to try and explain what you were doing/just bared witness too. Good luck with that.

Have you composed yourself? Yes? Good. Well unfortunately, that is where the show for you ends and where Tom’s adventure now begins. Because you see, this show, the greatest story ever told, takes place within Tom’s dreams, and we, and most certainly you mysterious person peering through the glass upon some ladder in the middle of the night are not privy to that. The fuck are you doing? But don’t worry I’m sure someone will write a story about it and sell it for a somewhat expensive but reasonable price of $39.99 (Available at all leading retailers). 

Have you ever noticed the silence between the spaces of words? I like to liken that phenomenon to the moment between sleep and dreams. Where one does not know what is going to fill the void, we cease to exist in that monent, yet we are infinite. The future is a blank page where words are merely an idea – found at the extremities of one’s conscience. I don’t know a lot about life or how things work or why things playout the way they do, but I believe it all stems from the words that formulate, articulate, resonate and even conspirate within our minds.

***

A gentle breeze dashed across my cheek, intertwining ever so briefly with my hair. I felt the sensation of grass rub against my skin and as my eyes slowly began to open, all I could see was blue. I sat up and drank in the sight of a vast openness. A field of green raced towards the horizon where mountains towered towards the heavens themselves, always just out of reach. I could hear the rippling of water flowing over stones, a lake flowed eloquently to my right. I stood and inhaled the essence of life itself. Flowers teemed around me and took the shape of every colour imaginable. I reached the edge of the river and looked down. I saw myself as I have never seen myself before. My face was at peace, it was no longer a tempest of emotions, shrouded in fear, anxiety and bitterness. It was as clear as the sky above, a smile appeared at edge of my mouth. Was this happiness? I wondered. I mean what is a definition of happiness, is there a true one? These feelings that we have, that encroach upon our being our very soul that we give names to what are they truly, our reflection? Our beliefs? Our identity? They are temptetuous as the weather, but for now I liked the feeling that rose within me, as I smiled down at the stream of water evermoving away. I stood up straight and inhaled the air. And as I was just about to submerge myself in the water I heard footsteps leading towards me. I wasn’t alone. Usually, one cannot hear another’s footsteps, especially when they are of the barefoot nature, that and the fact that I was currently dreaming; wasn’t I? Yet hear them I did and what met my sight will forever be burned into my memory. As if she had walked out of the wind itself. The very notion of time seemed to disappear as she appeared on a path towards me. Her long brown hair danced in her wake. Her flowing white dress seemed to be me moving with her very being, accentuating her features in an angelic like manner. And for a moment I feared to blink. She reached where I was standing, my mind clear like an untouched forest pool, I looked into her dark green eyes and saw the answers I seeked but never asked the question of.

Now you are probably thinking that of course he meets some beautiful girl who solves all his problems, everything starts off bliss and animated animals follow the two wherever they roam helping them make beds and whatnot. I wish this was the case, actually no I don’t, that would be a bit weird even for me to comprehend. However, what follows isn’t the arc of some fairy tale romance, this isn’t a normal story, life doesn’t work that way and so does not this tale. We must be strong for our young protagonist, the human mind can be wrought with danger, one small misplacec step and you can lose yourself.

Deep down Tom knew that onday he would have to face the torment of the past that harboured within the ever-remembering walls of his psyche; the question is – would he be ready to face what he had once buried?

She folded a few strands of hair back behind her ear. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. And then she spoke.

“Imagine it, imagine knowing the answers to all life’s questions, to see the path you were meant to follow appear in front of your eyes. No longer would you need to connect the dots, hesitate, um and ah. You just know.” I was encapsulated by what she was saying as the blue sky suddenly turned to that of an orange tinged twilight. The world was changing and my feet were rooted to the grown like a tree, steadfast and uncompromising.

She continued. “how would you handle this type of information, this type of guidance, would it change how you lived? Would you begin to finally live?” Frozen. My body started to come alive like a frozen lake being walked upon as the cracks spiral outwards like spiderwebs. First my feet, then my legs and all of a sudden my heart. I have never been struck by lightning but surely this is the closest thing to it. I looked at her, deep into her eyes, searching for some glimpse of a faux reality, to prove that this was all but a dream, an imagining of the mind. The wind kissed my lips and she reached and took my hand. And with that simple gesture, the part of me that still clung to the paranoia and the cynical left my soul. I just believed.

(This is the beginning workings of a novella, I will try to continue writing it daily, and begin researching more to really bring it alive, any book suggestions that you think may help or that sort of follow the theme of my story would be greatly appreciated, also feel free to critique it too.)

Why I want to tell Lies for a living

Let me start off by saying that I have no idea what I’m doing. For those who know me this is probably all but apparent. Don’t worry, I get it. Yet this isn’t necessarily a terrible thing, I have no rules to which I need to abide by. In contradiction to this though I have somewhat of an inclination of what I’d like to do. Therefore, I’m just going to go and do that. Which is to be a writer. To tell stories and make things up. To lie for a living. But before you go all Pinocchio’s dad on me, whose name is Geppeto in case you were wondering, these aren’t bad lies I am talking about. They are my truths. What I believe to be true. Beliefs that I hold close to my heart and if it weren’t for writing I may never get to express. Fiction is the lie that tells the truth. There is someone out there who needs my story. Who, without it, may grow up to be a different person, and who with it may find inspiration, or wisdom, or hope or kindness within my pages. That’s why I want to write, and that’s why I owe it to readers to write well. My biggest fear is that I’ll publish a story that is dull and may turn someone off reading and that is a scary thought. However, I’m willing to face that fear because I know that my words will reach someone, I have to believe they will.

I’m going to break off into a bit of a tangent here and make a declaration.

Reading is cool.

Writing is cool.

Libraries are cool.

Cool is a four-letter word with two vowels and two consonants. And I know this because of reading and writing. That was a full circle moment which is cool.

I digress, what I ultimately want to do is to inspire kids to read. Albert Einstein once said that “if you want your children to be intelligent read them fairy tales.” “If you want them to be more intelligent read them more fairy tales.”

Now I’m not saying I’m the authority on what fosters intelligence just because I have read a lot, far from it. I mean, I once tried to wash nail polish off with water, common sense isn’t exactly my strong point… Another example is when I was tired in class. My friend asked:

“Why are you tired mate?”

My response was: “I was up late watching Tangled last night.” Great movie by the way.

Not sure if the second example was really necessary, but you get what I’m saying. But I do understand the value of reading and imagining. I want to be able to help provide a world where future generations read and are read to, imagine and understand. Where people are not afraid to put on character voices when they read aloud to their kids. It may be true that individuals may just be a grain of sand in the context of society. Yet it is individuals who endeavour to change the world and imagine a different future. Don’t think you can’t change the world, you can. I want to change the world by telling lies to children in the form of stories and do it all for profit – I’m joking – sort of… In all seriousness though, everything was once imagined by someone after all. Just pause for a moment and look around your room, everything you see came from someone’s imagination.

Yet just doing something is so much harder than it sounds, but it also can be the easiest thing imaginable. And I concede that there are a lot of things I need to do to grant me the freedom of getting to where I want to be.

I want to be the creator of worlds, an intrepid explorer of far off places that no one has ever dreamed of. To bring forth characters that will break your heart or become your best-friend. I want to write books, movies, and perhaps even comics – so one of my first step towards this was studying Journalism. Because journalists are allowed to ask questions, to venture out into the world and discover how things work. Journalism teaches you how to write concisely, to a time frame and ultimately to write well under pressure. Journalism is a key for me in creating good art.

I’ve often thought that the great writers were all in a position, not unlike a position you probably have found yourself in countless times, sitting at a desk, putting words to paper. The very words that I have encountered in countless books. And they do so in a way full of such wonder and beauty. And then I start to think, dammit why don’t my words read like that? Then I start questioning my faith even though I’m not a man of faith. I say some unsavoury things to myself, my computer, even my lamp. But I don’t mean it because I love lamp. But that’s life, I’m humbled to be able to read the works of true literary giants, to immerse myself in their worlds in the form of escapism, and when I emerge it almost feels like I’m gasping for air. There’s nothing quite like the drive that fiction can ignite within you. That need to turn the page to uncover what happens next. And by doing so you are forced to learn new words, to dream new ideas, to see things from a perspective once unseen. Reading is key. Words have so much power. They have forged empires and shaped nations. And that is why I want to tell lies for a living. Words are eternal and will outlast us all in the end. I want my words, my truths to last longer than my lifetime, to live on in the hearts and minds of others. To leave my mark on this world for the better. To give people that warm feeling you get when you finish a book that you wish you could forget so you can enjoy the experience of reading it again for the first time.