AUTHOR'S CORNER:

THE REALITY OF MY IMAGINATION

I walk amongst the crowd of the human race; rubbing shoulders with them and pushing and shoving as I make my way, and yet I stand alone.  As the winds of time pass through me; I stand alone in my own deserted far away land.  Within the depth of my mind, within the emptiness of my soul and the coldness in my bones; I stand alone, alone and on my own!  Sustained only by my thoughts, sheltered by my dreams.

As time goes on and takes me with it; ageing me and changing my shape, I age not.  For the world may spin and the sun my rise and the waves will crash according to the moon's effect.  And the people may change and trends come and go, and what was once new and fresh will one day be withered and old, yet I age not.  I am kept ever youthful within the harmony of my mind, preserved by my dreams.

And I shall conjure up lovers past and place their hands back in mine.  I shall recreate what was lost to me and make life of a dead situation.  I shall take and pluck out of thin air that which I see fit to take and mould into happiness.  And I shall build up high from my own creation a shelter made up of my imagination! And light a candle for all the saints and make for a better future.  For I am safe within my head and protected by my dreams.

I shall make new paths where the mighty tread and where fairies roam, where they can be seen and heard and co-exist in harmony.  I shall make way for the mythical and I shall conjure up magic.  And I shall bring peace into the world and watch as angels' wings unfold.

And I shall face up to my fears and fight the good fight; my soul against my faltering spirit.  And the battle shall commence and I shall take up arms and one or the other shall win.  If my soul wins, then my spirit shall be broken.  If my spirit wins, than my soul shall be saved!  But I am armed well in my mind and victorious in my dreams.

And I shall set alight the fires of my mind, I shall stoke them and watch them roar!  I shall warm myself beside them and induce a feeling of well being within myself.  For the fires are blazing fierce in my mind, ignited by my dreams.

And I stand alone, alone within the buzzing of my mind, alone amidst the worlds in my head.  I stand alone amongst the characters who stand alongside of me.  Holding in my hand a tiny light; a light that has enough power to conjure up worlds and make fantasy real.  It is a light that glows in my mind and is harnessed in my dreams.

As I walk amongst the crowd of the human race; rubbing shoulders and pushing past them, I stand alone....alone in my imagination!  

AUTHOR'S CORNER:

THE WINTER OF MY DISCONTENT

I ALWAYS START A NOVEL IN WINTER, AND NO, NOT BECAUSE I HAVE NOTHING BETTER TO DO, OR BECAUSE I LIKE TO WRITE IN FRONT OF AN OPEN FIRE.....(THOUGH HAVING THOUGHT ABOUT IT, I WOULD LIKE TO WRITE IN FRONT OF AN OPEN FIRE) BUT BECAUSE SOME OF MY BEST WORK IS IN WINTER.....WHY?  OKAY, READ ON....

I always try to start a novel in October or November; waiting until the good old British weather graces me with its wintry woes, blessing me with mist and fog and all shades of grey which seem to penetrate through my tender soul and invade my delicate senses!  Not to mention the depression that is brought about by the sheer death of my tree lined street, where the pavements seem to be coated in a mixture of dead leaves, slush and certain dog deposits which I don't care to mention!  The sheer force of the wind that seems to wait in hiding until I emerge from my house, and then whooshes down and whirls several times round my body, abusing my hair as it does so.  Or the spiky rain that insists on pinning me as I try to innocently make my way to the shops, washing my make-up away and leaving me looking like something out of Nightmare on Elm Street!  Oh yes, winter, who can fault it?  Always greeting us each and every single year, with abusive winds and darkened skies, rain that never ceases and a general feeling of complete and utter helplessness!  If aliens ever landed in England in the winter (which I suspect the poor sods did) they would deem earth as a forsaken planet and never come back again!

Needless to say, winter leaves me feeling somewhat...suicidal!  There seems to be no hope in the bleak skies overhead, and just taking the rubbish out becomes an Arctic chore!  Hell, it even gets dark by 4pm!  So then I find myself going insular and quite hermit like and a little dark in my spirit; which frightens the children and makes the family once again, question my sanity!  

COULD IT GET ANY WORSE?

OH IT DOES.....BUT WAIT, THERE IS A LIGHT THERE SOMEWHERE.....

You see with all these negative vibes, one can really harness them and make a great, intense and very powerful novel!

Depression and despair are great tools for a writer, you can draw upon your negative feelings and really write in an intense way that captures the very essence of your reader's soul!  It's just a matter of taking all that frustration, dark feelings, resentment, deep seated depression and applying them to your main character in your book; now your heroin can really feel pain, she can portray despair, she is DESPAIR!  Now your hero can take the reader down his own private lane of aggression; he can show your reader what a hurt and desperate man can do!  Your love will be written intensely and your pain will scorch a hole in the reader's mind!  Your words will be crisp and daring, battered by the winds of anguish, your pen fuelled by the winter's dying sun, and your page, your page shall be the battlefield that you fight upon! 

And on the plus side, your writing shall relieve you of your own dark feelings, it will be like having your own private therapist.  And your thoughts will flow like music, and your publisher will think you fantastic and deep and moody.  And your readers will think you genius and your husband will be spared your wroth. And your marriage shall survive!  And most importantly, your kids won't put you in an old folk's home when you are old!

THIS IS SIMPLY WHY I ALWAYS START A NOVEL IN WINTER; IT IS AFTER ALL THE WINTER OF DISCONTENT THAT BRINGS OUT THE BEST IN ME!

AUTHOR'S CORNER:

THY PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD

As I sit alone in my darkened room, and the winds of winter scatter by.  As I capture images in my mind's eye of lovers gone and worlds diminished, of mountains high against a clear blue sky.  As the life force within me wills me into a magical world, where dreams are not a figment of imagination, but a solid reality which sustain me.  As I hear the voices of my forefathers echo in my ear, soothing me with their words of wisdom and comforting my soul.  As I conjure images from the air and make them real and give them substance.  As the winds of sorrow blow upon the vast desert sand, where I once stood in a faraway land.  As the stars have seen and witnessed my pain, and the sun has dried up my tears and the moon has guided me through life's sorry maze.

As my lover's hand is placed in mine, and my heart is entwined with his.  As the injustice of the world leaves it's mark upon my withered heart and makes me not the person I thought I could once be.  As the mystery of my very existence baffles me and shakes me to the core.  My lonely image in the mirror looks back at me and beckons me to engage.  As the hollow ground which I once tread upon opens up and swallows me whole, and my delicate body is consumed within the earth of which I once came from.  I shall live on, and on, and on.  And I shall change that which is impossible to change and mend that which was too far gone for mending.  I shall infuse into the hearts of others, my vision and all that I could dream of being.  I shall change nations and alter the world and make them as puppets upon my stage.  

As my candle burns through my life span and the gateways of time are altered.  I shall build worlds within worlds in the walls of my mind.  I shall recreate the perfection which I have been yearning and leave my sorrows behind.  As I tread upon the sands of time, I shall live on and on and on.  And I shall alter time and space and bring down the invisible walls which divide the human race.  I shall infuse a  love which is a new revolution and the people shall rise!

And when my heart beats, it shall beat for the masses and when my tears fall they shall become a river and in it the hearts of people will find cleansing salvation.  As the winds of time circle me and engulf me within them, I shall be that time and live on and on and on.  And I shall bring injustice to its knees, and halt corruption and eliminate suffering.  For the clouds of my mind are gathering overhead and soon it shall pour!

I shall take up my pen and I shall live on and on and on.  For my weapon is not a gun or a bomb or a knife; my weapon is far more lethal than those.  I hold it in my hand and balance it between my fingers,  it is a simple weapon, but it's bullets are fashioned out of pure magic, and those bullets contain that which can never be stopped....my words.  And I shall live on and on and on!

AUTHOR'S CORNER:

WHAT I AM IS ALL I AM

There are many ways an aspiring author can approach this writing malarkey; they could try and copy what other authors do, copying their style, their genre and generally becoming just another copycat author who gets published because they fit the current trend but will never really be very well known!  They could be light-hearted authors who write about safe subjects and never venture to the world of hardcore imagination, because it is far too radical and way out there that they fear failing.  That's okay, but a little boring if you ask me!  Or finally, and this is my least favourite of the none adventurous author's attempt at writing seriously, they could go to writing classes and learn how to become a writer.... well if you think you  need writing classes, then baby, you better think twice about becoming a writer!

We would all love to be J.K. Rowling, and write in the unique way that she does; but that's just it, we are not J.K. Rowling, because God doesn't clone us!  And what makes her J.K. Rowling and not Mary from down the road, is precisely that; her uniqueness shines through in her writing.  There can only ever be one J.K. Rowling, and that is a fact!  But having said that, it doesn't mean that there can't be a Sarah French, or a Paul Smith.  You see my point is, holding back, or copycat writing, gets you nowhere because it isn't showing your true self.  And as a writer what is it that you have to offer if not your true self?  

When somebody picks up a book to read, they want to be taken down a journey which is unique and different, they want to explore your thought process and become a part of that wonderful world in you head for just a moment.  They want to read your crazy thoughts, they want to see your wild setting, they want to know how the heroin manipulates her lover, how the murderer plots his killing.  They want to be taken on an adventure which only you, crazy, radical, out there, you can provide!  They want to experience your emotions, feel your heart ache and love your passions.  They want you. you not a weakened version of another writer, not a cartoon representation of a trend...they want you, whoever you may be, because whatever you may be, is unique to you and you alone; you are the only one with that DNA!

So next time you are attempting to write; don't worry if your views are different, don't worry if your story is set on Mars, don't worry if you sound politically charged, or politically incorrect.  Don't worry if real people don't normally behave like your characters...if you give it any thought, you'll ruin your good work!  Don't worry, because if you are all you have to offer, then that's all you should be selling! Your talent comes from your uniqueness and your uniqueness stems from your mind and your mind is only a manifestation of you!

AUTHOR'S CORNER:

MY IMAGINATION IN CONGREGATION

Ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper I lived in a world full of playmates, magical beings, tragic adventures, happy endings and trips to the moon!  My mother initially thought she had a very intelligent child, a gifted child whose brain exceeded any other child, she thought she had a genius!  Only I wasn't a genius, as she would later conclude; for my leaning towards the unreal was tiresome and my mind had a tendency to wonder!  I loved the darkness of the night and would stare out of my bedroom window for hours, refusing to go to bed and marvelling at the moonlight.

At school, my teachers complained about me, they said that initially I was very smart and that I had the ability to be top student; their only concern was that I refused to put in the effort.  They could not understand how a child who produced excellent work when asked to write short stories, would produce doodles and scribbles when asked to write about history or do some maths!  Hence I was viewed as a troubled child and they simply could not come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I refused to write essays or do some maths when clearly I was more than capable, as has been shown in my English class, where my stories were so well written and so entertaining, they had many a teacher impressed!  My father was called to the school on numerous occasions, and often left baffled and a little ashamed.  

I had a few friends at school but my real friends were the little boy, Steven, and the two little girls, Mandy and Sue, waiting for me each evening when I got back from school.  They lived in my room and mainly in my mind.  You see, they were my imaginary friends, they were there to keep me company, they loved me and understood me like no one else could!  As I grew they changed from Steve, Mandy and Sue, into Adam and Rose, then as eventually it was just Adam.  He disappeared when I was about twelve, instead of manifesting my characters into imaginary friends, I took to carrying a notepad and pen in which all my wildest imaginations would be transformed into short stories and poems and drawings.  

At the age of thirteen my father was once again called to school to discuss his 'Odd-ball' daughter and was pleasantly surprised when my English teacher told him that I write really well and that perhaps we should look into finding a child publisher.  Needless to say, he was very proud, and although encouraged my writing, he did not know where to begin and therefore no publisher was ever found.  I was also very good at my drama classes and once again my teachers encouraged me to join an amateur drama club, where you had to be eighteen to be accepted, I was only fifteen, but was accepted anyway because they could see the potential.  Mum was worried and did not want me to go, she thought i was too young.  But my passion for the imaginary world only grew and my need to write was an overwhelming desire that even I did not understand!  

By the time I was eighteen, all I ever wanted to become was a writer; I only ever felt truly happy on the pages of fiction and found myself in the illusions which I skilfully created and entertained my family and their friends with them (for by then I had quite an intimate following) as they all listened to my latest piece.

But the world being the world and my parents being concerned for my future; I went to college and studied business and subsequently went on to work in Admin.  But still the passion of fiction was burning away at me and often I would be found locked in my     room after work, typing my latest creation

Soon life took me and I met and married my husband, and I had my first two children.  I wrote a novel and sent it to a well known publisher, they wrote back, said that they had to debate whether to accept it or not as it was so good, however I was unknown and the risk was too great; so it was rejected.  However their letter of encouragement kept me going.  But I then went on to have two more children and I moved to America for my husband's work.  I was too busy to write, and often, whilst happily married and lucky to have my children, felt that a big part of me was missing and totally unfulfilled!

I wrote my second novel when my youngest started school, but as luck would have it, the moment I finished it and about to send it off to the publisher, we got burgled and they took my laptop along with my memory stick.  I was heart broken.  When was I going to get a break?

My friends and family encouraged me to write, I did not want to, for I felt betrayed and depression set in and I had dark, dark days!  But with the encouragement of good people, who told me to just write, write, write, even it comes out rubbish.  So after a period of self-pity, I wrote, and wrote and wrote.  I got a novel almost accepted, then in the last hurdle rejected.  I wrote again, and again....and finally I got my first novel published last year and I have another coming out next year!

I feel complete!  Finally I have a congregation to my imagination!