Living a dream

Living a Dream


"Being a novelist is more than knowing technique
And putting ink on paper. We are all something
Else besides novelists. But the key is, in our
Hearts, at the very core of our being, we are
Novelists. We are willing to make the sacrifices
Necessary to share our stories with the world.
If you are looking for social prestige, wild orgies
to participate in or want to work in your underwear,
You are not a novelist".

-Hollie Snider-







For most of my life I’ve been making decisions for other people, not taking into account my own personal needs. Is it the things you do for other people that make you great or is it the things you do for yourself that make you perfect, invulnerable from love and loss or the feeling of your lips connecting with a stranger. I've got to hand it to that dark shadow that looms over me, because he or she is doing a good job at breaking the strap on my gym bag, making me grumpy in the mornings and making my life so difficult, but then what’s life if its not difficult. It’s hard to run a family or even be part of one sometimes when the only thing you want and don't get is a bit of peace and quiet, but then again who has a baby and complains it cries too much. I’m going on twenty-three soon and all I’ve got to show for it is looking after other people.

Be prepared for the inevitable; it hits you out of nowhere like a hard punch from a boxer. You have to be able to take punches as well as give them, meaning your jaw better be as strong as your fists because life hits you pretty damn hard.

I’m in between a wall, stuck between responsibility and my own future career if I have one. My problems at home are interfering with my work and any personal life I used to have. Is this what it means to be responsible for others? I’m out of the job quicker than I’m in. I never thought I’d have stress problems at twenty-two and in all the years of heart pains and chest troubles, i blame myself.

I wake up early and the suns so bright it’s shining through my blinds and then my curtains, projecting onto my face like a morning wake up call. It's better then my phone alarm that never goes off. I feel like that black shadow has nothing better to do then torment me as my coffee spills on my work clothes, the strap on my second gym bag breaks and I nearly fall down the stairs because of a squeaky toy. I decide to give up and let that shadow have today’s win. If their any kind of people out there they won't take a blotch of spilled coffee and think I wet my pants, and as far as my gym bag goes, it means I get another free bag. Hopefully, it'll be the blue one I see so many gym members with, instead of the horrible, dark green. All the things I do and I can't even get a blue bag instead of a green, that’s all I ask for. A little appreciation would be nice.

I spend about a half an hour ironing my shirt, waking my brother up for school and making breakfast for everyone so my Mom can have a lye on. To a bad start though. I burn the toast, the eggs were black, and there are more creases in my shirt now than there was before. It was a waste, because my Mom smelled the smoke of the burnt breakfast and came down to sort everything out anyway, probably knowing if I couldn't make toast without burning it then I couldn't clean it up. Everyone needs help, even the invincible. I used to think if you were invincible then you couldn't get hurt, you were able to fight the inevitable, but the truth is that even the invincible aren’t entirely invincible, because everyone has a weakness and that weakness eats away at you, breaks you down until there's nothing left but the man you hoped you'd never become. In some cases and households you’re taught that weakness cannot be tolerated, that you can't survive in the real world without being strong. Courage is all you need. The belief and trust in your own skills.

The world is a complicated thing to master and minutes before our time we will look at that fleeting light and say, now I understand. Oscar Wilde once said, "Some cause happiness wherever they go; others, whenever they go". All we have to make us understand, are quotes from great people, lost beneath that permanent abyss. I’m not a philosopher or someone who believes the whole world is an enigma. I didn't invent some brilliant device. I’m a writer. I lock myself away like a hermit and write until my hand hurts. Unlike most, my family don't have friends who are big book publishers; they don't own their own publishing company or anything to that effect, so i’m not one of the lucky ones. You might think i'm the confident type but i'm not. I'm just a guy with a dream.

I've learned two things while trying to perfect my skill and that is: One, you always have to remember that dreams are hard to come true, but you keep trying until you prove yourself wrong. Two, some days you will create magnificent pieces of writing, worthy of any publishing house. Other days you will write so terribly that not even your dog wouldn't use it as a litter tray. That is the harsh but simple truth that you will experience in your quest to let the rest of the world read your stories. Once you accept your mistakes and that everybody makes them, you will understand why you made them. The journey from being nobody to somebody is hard, and once you're there, your big pool table and all the money in the world will not hide your true urge: To be back where you belong.

My Father always told me that rich people don't know their lives from their money, because their money is their lives and that it eventually gets too hard to choose which one they want to rule. Anything my Father ever said was hard to understand, but when I got older I understood, I understood that he seen everyone who was different to be weak. He once said, and it was the last thing he said as the cops slapped the cuffs on him. “Whatever you decide to be in life, don't become like me". They were the last words my Father spoke before he was carted off to prison, and the only words i'm sure he didn't regret.

Life is strange isn't it? It’s so complexed, though we crave for more understanding of it, for a reason why we are born to eventually die, for a reason why a baby is born to die straight after. We say that we understand and that we accept that to be born means to die eventually, but do we all really accept it? Do we all accept to live a great and wonderful life, only to die of some cancer or car crash? I bet everyone who's never died peacefully wishes they could've seen their last days next to their loved ones, but not everyone has that option.

I write and write until my fingers turn red and my shoulders ache from not moving too much. I never see the point because the minute my pen hits the table my memory goes and all the ideas of great stories and wonderful magic are gone, but when my pen hits the paper its like i’m alive, in a world where anything i write is real. If I want to write about puddles of rain and two teenagers dripping wet, standing a distance to each other and waiting to close in and kiss, then i turn on the song "True" by Spandau Ballet. If I want to create a masterful tale of a young boy who faces all kinds of evil, that no other fourteen year old would face, then i have to turn on something that I could see making the story come true. I’m so blinded by trying to make it straight off that I don't practice, i don't write short stories. I just write, and when i'm done I read it and accept if its good or bad, great or terrible. If you don't admit when your writing is good or bad, then you'll never get it right.

So far i'm making absolutely no sense, but I bet i'm creating a magnificent piece of writing. I learned from a friend that your intro is the part that will strike your readers most, have them begging for more, to turn the page and excitedly start the story. If it was up to me i would hand a publisher my stories and boom! I'd be in the world of fame and big pool tables. Unfortunately though, it’s not up to me. It’s up to the publishers whether or not your stories make it. Some publishers sound like their desperate to get out of the job when they answer the phone, others react politely and thank you for submitting your work to them. When it comes to getting another phone call from those publishers, its difficult. It’s like waiting for your phone call back from a job interview. They'll either tell you before hand that if you get the job you'll hear from them, but if they don't ring, you didn't get the job. I'd imagine the bosses just hate telling people they haven't got the job and that’s why they tell you. If they don't ring you know why.

People who don't take writing as a hobby would find it hard to box themselves away from their friends, from the world they itch to get back to and the programmes they watch so much, that it feels like real life to them. A favorite writer of mine (Hollie Snider) once said if you want to be a writer you have to lock yourself away and write. If your favorite TV programme is on, tape it. If your fish died, “sorry I can't make the funeral ". Although a bit extreme, many in my position would understand every word completely. You don't necessarily have to close yourself off from the world just to write a book, but if that’s what you want to do, then it demands your full attention. Wouldn't we go that far just to live our dream?

I could be saying things that make no sense, but with every word I write it urges you to read on, to see what comes next. You must include words and sentences that will mesmerize the average brain to be attracted to it, to read on and on until the end. It doesn't have to make sense to be good, but it does have to be entertaining, something that will broaden every readers imagination to say “Yes, I am that person or yes that does exist ". We don't need a well inked piece of paper to tell us that we are novelists or that we can or cannot become a novelist without it. My parents urged me to stay in school when i was younger, because i wanted to leave and write books. They didn't believe in my ability to make things happen on a peace of paper, to make things alive and real. I stayed in school and today i struggle to keep a job and write a book that i fear no one but my self-conscience will ever read. It’s quite hard to do what you love most, when you have responsibilities. Your body and mind are needed for your book, but you lend them to school, homework and surprise tests that you’re getting a little tired of by now. But then again, the teachers surprise you with a test to see if you ever went over the material, to test your knowledge and memory. Some might even get the distinct pleasure of seeing that big “F “at the top of your test paper.

I watch the clock turn to 12: 00 and I flick the last page of my calendar over, accepting that its now the first of December and all I’ve got is bags under my eye's and a yawn to make my mouth soar. You’re never too old to look forward to Christmas, to the merry spirit and the beautiful, cold snow that you've been waiting so long for. You position yourself at your windowsill as a kid, watching with beating eye's for the snow to fall, even that little tiny flake would cause you to jump with joy and run downstairs to tell your parents. It’s a shame i'm not a kid anymore, because i sure as hell wish I was. I miss the days of no responsibility, the days of being brought to the zoo. Is it us who choose that being older means you can't keep that little kid around anymore, or is it the first person we see that we blame for our mistakes and the decisions we can't make?

Being a novelist is more than putting ink to paper. You have to use your life, your stories and your personal struggles. Once you do that, any reader would be interested. You have to mix it around. Use your own experiences, whether they be good or bad. A good reader loves the real personal experiences rather than the made up ones. My English teacher once said " If you don't write about the world and all its meagre problems, then who will ". You can't map your life out for yourself, it does that itself. People will call you different, weak, but their probably just jealous, scared that they could never become you. But hey, what do I know, i'm just trying to live a dream.