All posts by Arbie

Hi! I'm Arbie. Pleased to meetcha! I write stories and stuff. I also post pictures of adorable creatures. I wrote a young adult fantasy and you can find it here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079M27VKL! That's about it!

bland title

Possibly, maybe, probably on hiatus. I want to keep writing but something has happened and I want to write about everything (and I have, twice over, and deleted it again) and finally feel free from everything that has been happening over the past few years. But, I can’t. So if I write I will feel as though it is censored, or false. It would not be true to write about happiness or rambles or anything of the kind in this moment given how I truly feel.

I wish I had it in me to be a good person, recognise the suffering I feel right now and want to help another out of it, so try hard to give another happiness. I know I will do this in time because I have time and time again, but in this moment, today. I can’t. I just can’t.

I wrote so much about everything that has happened and it didn’t help. It was just there, staring back at me in black and white rather than in a mess in my head. I barely even scraped the service.

Maybe I’ll be around and I’ll ramble and I’ll find small joys to keep me sane and keep me going, like in my cats. Cats are pretty incredible. They really do understand when you are sad and want to do what they can to make it better. My ferret, Pandora, she is incredible at being there for you when you are upset. After Seb passed away she clung to me, she would groom me and cuddle in close to me. Seb wasn’t her companion, by the way, they didn’t get along and so were kept apart, so it wasn’t mourning the loss of Seb the way me and Seb mourned Kib that resulted in Pandora trying to comfort me.

I love Ellen but when I watched her stand up and she laughed at the idea of a ferret as a comfort animal I can’t help but think she’s never known a ferret. I know what people think of ferrets, how people might use them. But, ferrets are incredible. They are so loyal, and so smart, and so loving. I miss my ferrets.

I guess I really can ramble about things when I’m feeling lower than low, when I don’t think anything can save my marriage. Please don’t think that I’d just say that after a small fight. This has been long coming and some things no matter how hard you want to help them and solve the issues, it just doesn’t work. Maybe I’ll go into details one day, I just ask that anyone reading this, that you please understand that it probably isn’t what you think and I have done a very good job of hiding what has been happening. From everyone.

Sometimes, it just is what it is and you have to face reality even when someone has tried really hard to warp your reality time and time again. But, we’re getting into tough ground here.

My stomach is turning at the thought of posting this. At living this. I just want to sleep. I don’t care how weak I sound right now. I’m writing this while raw and emotional and I am a person and people fucking feel. I’m a person damnit. It hurts when you lie to me, it hurts when you deceive me, it hurts when you use my mental illness against me, it hurts when you hurt me, I bruise, I ache, I bleed, I am a person.

Who am I protecting? What am I protecting? Why do I feel so much shame and guilt? Do I need permission to write this? To click publish on this?

“it’s complicated” “it’s difficult” “it isn’t what it seems” maybe it really is complicated and difficult and not what it seems. But what happens next? How does it end?

I can hear the train going by in the distance and it reminds me that the world is bigger than this. That life occurs outside of these walls and, and… I don’t know. Whatever energy I had left has gone. I don’t even know what I’m writing now let alone why.

I truly hope you’re well.

Arbie X

a rambling and back again

I think I’m just going to have a little bit of a write today, rather than continue with the short story I’ve been writing or writing anything in response to a prompt. I don’t really have a lot of time because my husband will need the laptop, and I’m not sure where I’m taking the story next. At all. I’d be fine with just stream writing in a short amount of time, but when I know I don’t have a lot of time I panic and my mind goes blank. Although, maybe it’s worth giving it a shot. Push myself a little bit more, you know? Yeah, I’ll do that. So, hmm… I guess I’ll leave this here and pick up where I left off tomorrow. A multi-day blog entry! Woohoo!

Okay, to the story I go…

(here is what I wrote yesterday, it’s fiction: if only in a dream…)

That was yesterday’s writing, but today were back with brand new writing! Shine the lights! Wuhuu! Okay, that’s a lot of pachazz… pujazz? Pajazz? I don’t know. That’s a lot of excitement for what will be just a return to the rambles. Rambles of Doom: Rambles Strikes Back.

I think I spent too long in the bath because I’m not half as physically excited as I mentally seem to be. In fact, I don’t think I’m mentally excited either. I think I’m anxious because I don’t have a lot of time left to write this before I miss a day. I guess I’m confusing excitement with anxiety, or perhaps I’m tunnelling my anxiety into excitement. Fairly certain I mean channelling, but there’s no turning back from here! There is no delete or backspace!

I’m finally getting better from whatever was wrong with me. I did have a fair few drugs (the prescription kind) thrown my way so maybe that helped. But, now I just have the cough. I’ve been enjoying being in the kitchen again after over a week of not being able to move around too well at all. Nuh uh. Not much strutting by these feets! I’ll be continuing to stay in though, because we have to, but also because coughs are dangerous things these days with all their spittle spray and so on.

I expect I’ll be up late again tonight. We’re gathering all sorts of things about my husband’s ailments and it is stacks of paperwork. It fries my little brain at the best of times but late into the night I begin to read all the words upside down and backwards. I think it will be well worth it though, so a few cups of tea will get me through it!

Oh! I did actually go and write the story yesterday when I said I was going to. I honestly do not know where I’m going to take it. It will probably be embarrassingly bad, but so what? We’re all writers here, many creative writers. We know what a draft looks like and we know that sharing those practice writings or drafts or first attempts back at creativity can be tough. I’m just posting it for whoever to see. I hope I can come up with an ending though. I don’t think it will necessarily be going down the original thought process I had, but that’s the joy of pansting. Who knows where it will take you?

I had an idea that I think would lend itself well to a comic, but I don’t know how to draw and I don’t want to put it to my friend who is an artist because I have a history of wanting to start something and not being able to. If I put a script together, then I’ll say something. But even then, I know she’s busy with her work. I’ll look into how writers find artists and how all of that works. When the time comes, that is.

Did anyone see the Queen’s speech? I saw a quote from it on Tony’s blog so went searching for it. I like the Queen. I might not be a bit follower or supporter of the royal family as such, but the Queen is good in my books. I’ll post it for anyone who might want to view it. She’s talking about gratefulness and strength during the time of the Coronavirus pandemic.

It felt good to ramble again. I might need to trim me nails though because they’re a bit too long and they feel uncomfortable when I’m typing. I’m pretty fast at typing so I don’t like anything getting in the way of that speed or placing letters where letters aren’t supposed to be! I always wonder how people with super long nails use their phones or type. I have a fear of nails being ripped off and so I cringe a little when I see the tip of a nail meet the plastic because it moves the nail and tugs on it and erugh.

I’d like to continue but you’re in luck because I need to go boil the kettle. I wonder how many other people are boiling the kettle at this moment or about to go boil the kettle. Are you boiling the kettle? Is my talking about boiling the kettle making you want to boil the kettle?

*insert X Files theme tune*

We’re still watching X Files and my husband loves it which is very fun.

Are there any aliens boiling the kettle right now? Would aliens boil kettles or would they have some other form of technology to create boiling water? Could they do it with their minds? Would that mean that they would never suffer from coldteaitis because they could just *du du du du duuuu duuuuuuu* and it would be hot again? Huh… neat.

I hope you’re all well!

Arbie X

(Real Arbie not fake oh no weird dreams Arbie)

 

NOTE: AAArrggghhhh it didn’t post and it’s now 00:48. I found it in my drafts. Whyyyyyy. 😦 Well, I’m going to count it because I wrote it on the 6th and tried to post it. Baaaah. 😦

 

if only in a dream…

I feel awful. Not necessarily physically, but mentally. I feel like I’m betraying my life, my spouse, my goals and dreams. Ironically, ever since that dream…

It’s been a number of nights now and I’m still dreaming the same dream where I’m myself only better. This is what I mean. I’m comparing my life to that of a dream version of myself and I’m beginning to want things I never thought were important.

I never cared for expensive cars, big houses, carefully placed yet not sentimental ornaments. I always told myself, I made a promise to myself, that should I ever amount to any sort of wealth it wouldn’t see my pockets but it would go to charity. And here I am, waking up from the same materialistic Groundhog Day dream wishing I could go back into it when only a few days ago I wanted to stay out of it.

Oh, to add to this, there’s no crash. After that jarring experience where I would wake up and be dragged back into that same point of the jolt and the blackness, there is none of that now. It’s just the dream. It’s just waking up next to my husband, but rather than it being our life, it’s a different life. One I wonder, one I keep trying to tell myself, isn’t better than the one we built together. That is what I mean about feeling like I am betraying him, betraying us.

I feel like that is only the beginning though. It’s like an addiction is forming. I used to not look forward to sleep, I’d feel sad that the day was over, but now I want sleep just to go back into that dream. I’m starting to feel irritable if I’m woken just as I’m falling asleep. Our dog barked and I had to bite my tongue to prevent the anger spilling out.

In the dream we have a dog, too. This fluffy little thing that bounds around and wouldn’t look out of place with a gold medal swinging from its collar. Our dog is some kind of mix, some shaggy thing that got frisky with a shepherd dog or something. What is wrong with me? I love our dog. I waited my entire life to get a dog just like him and now I’m even comparing him to some dream variation of himself.

All I feel is guilt and the only answer to that guilt is the dream, and that thought process is one I keep pushing away. But, my arms feel weaker as the walls close in, comforting yet steel walls that draw my eyelids closed from this real world.

I can’t say if the presence is still there or not. I spend so much of my time in that room just willing forward sleep that even if it was I probably wouldn’t care to notice. I wonder if my husband has noticed anything odd with me? I wonder if he knows, or if I should tell him.

Every part of me rejected the idea of telling him. A thousand little voices all crying no filled my head. A warning that telling him would mean the dream would die. For that reason, I know that I need to tell him. I tell him everything. Why have I not told him about this?

Arbie X

 


 

Note: This is all fiction, none of it is real! I do wish I had a scraggy dog, though.

Part One – There but not there

Part Two – and now in dreams too

 


 

I didn’t write how this works in the previous posts because I wanted to just get on with writing it and not worry about anything. But, just so people know what I’m doing, this is my take on the subreddit NoSleeps form of storytelling.

Basically, people write about paranormal or just weird things that are happening to them as though they are real, and people reply as though it is real. It’s like a roleplay between a writer and their audience. I never really expect anyone to read my posts and so I didn’t take the time to explain. I hope this clears things up.

Please also note that this is purely for fun and these are drafts that I write, read through for error and then post. There may be inconsistency in this story (if anyone is following it) because I have no idea where I’m going with it.

A long time ago I wrote that I was going to do this on this blog, and then I never did. This is partly the reason I just got on with it two days ago. I haven’t been on reddit and read NoSleep in some time, but it is brilliant with some very, very good writers. So I highly recommend it.

I’ll be posting the above in a future ramble!

I do hope you’re all well.

Real Arbie X

and now in dreams too

Last night I dreamt that I wasn’t myself.

At first the dream was not particularly interesting. It was a normal wandering about in the world dream, the type that a partner might listen to but only with partial interest as not to seem rude. You’re not quite the captive audience, so I won’t go into detail on the beginning. It’s the ending that made me awake feeling uncomfortable, mostly because of how many times I went through that same damn ending.

It was partly similar to the previous nights. I’d wake up and feel like someone was in the room, but whereas on those nights it would be a struggle to fall back to sleep, even if I wanted to stay awake last night, I was drawn back into the same dream each time.

At the same point.

I would be walking down the street, in clothes that didn’t look like any I own or would own (a knee skimming skirt and long-sleeved loose blouse) and I would approach a car, and hesitate for a minute with that same feeling of being watched I’ve been experiencing while awake.

I would then think nothing of the brief chill that caused goosebumps to rise on my shoulders, and instead get into the car. It was only upon checking the mirror that I’d see, despite the life I had been living previously in the dream, and the way that I acted and talked (much more confident) that it was my face staring back at me. I didn’t greet it with the usual sunken feeling in my stomach, instead I fixed a piece of loose blonde hair as though it mattered very little, pulled on the seat belt and started the ignition.

All of this would have been a very pleasant dream, perhaps of an ideal version of my life, until this next point.

The shortest moment in the dream. The crash.

At least, I think it’s a crash. I think from the way my head jolts forward and stomach lurches upwards that something has crashed into the back of the car. I get that same cold feeling I was talking about, followed by a heat that travels through my veins. I spoke about this in yesterday’s post. I think then, that I must die, because I wake up and I’ve been told you can’t die in a dream.

This happened about four or five times. Which might not sound like much, but by the time I was able to keep my eyes open and truly fight being dragged back into sleep, my body ached and I leaned my head over the side of the bed thinking I was about to vomit. It was like riding a rollercoaster one too many times in the middle of Summer.

Even worse, I felt that presence in the room every time I woke up. I felt that it was closer than usual. That I was being drugged and unable to defend myself. I felt my body tighten just now in only writing about it.

It’s as though whatever is in the room is playing games with me. I wanted sleep and so now I have it, but it comes with its own terms and conditions, and who reads those, really?

I’m pretty exhausted today and so it doesn’t matter how much I want to avoid that room; I imagine I’ll be in bed and out of it within minutes of my head hitting the pillow. I just hope I don’t have that same dream. Not only because it left me feeling physically sick, but because dreams are precious and should be reserved for more fun things, not boring and repetitive rubbish.

Anyway, that’s all there was too it. Fingers crossed for restful sleep!

Arbie X

 

note: check the tags, this is fiction!

click here for part one

There but not there

Over the past few nights I’ve had a strange sensation of something watching me. I had sleep paralysis for years and so the creeping awareness of something being in the room and finding myself unable to move is familiar to me. But, I can move when I wake and I can twist my body around to see if someone is behind me, both things I know I couldn’t do when waking into sleep paralysis. I also would at least see something while in sleep paralysis. This always seems to be on the edge of my vision, always just out of view.

I reach back and I touch my husband on the shoulder, yes, he is there.

And then the presence is gone. It’s almost as though I’m not only comforting myself in knowing my husband is beside me, but I’m reminding whoever (or whatever) is in the room of this also.

On the third night this happened I started to trust my senses, and rather than dismissing it as sleep-limbo (that place between sleep and waking where Peter Pan supposedly lurks) induced hallucinations, I woke my husband. Let’s face it, we’ve all seen far too many horror films where no one says anything to anyone else and it turns out everyone was experiencing the same thing.

My husband didn’t know what I was talking about. Although I knew I wasn’t at the risk of tumbling down the crazy woman who ends up being locked away for expressing her fears trope rabbit hole, I backed down when my husband became concerned. He hasn’t been well and jumping out of bed to patrol the house wouldn’t have been good for him. Besides, the door to the bedroom is closed and whatever keeps waking me is in the room with us.

This might all be nothing, but I’m writing this now after a night of restless sleep. I woke as usual, but to my relief I didn’t feel any unknown presence. I thought that I’d be able to fall asleep easily because of this, but instead a wave of cold anxiety spread from my chest to the tip of every finger and toe. It was as though freezing water had been poured, not over me, but through me. I didn’t shoot up like waking from a nightmare, I just lay there, anxious beyond words but without any reason behind it.

I struggle with anxiety anyway, and if I think back far enough, something like this has happened before in stressful situations. But what came next, I am convinced has never happened. In place of the cold, heat began to rise from my feet. It felt as though it was creeping through my veins and the intrusive feeling stole away any comfort the warmth may have been able to provide. I began to panic, and this only increased when I became aware that my feet were uncovered, the blanket thrown to one side. I have had a childish fear of my feet being uncovered ever since I was, well, a child.

I gasped as though I was waking from a nightmare and this woke my husband. He reached over to put his arm around me, pulled me close, and muttered that I was freezing. By this point, I felt like I had been lying in the scorching heat and just reached the point where you either stay and melt or leap up and seek shade. I needed shade and his arms were the sun, every touch burning my skin, leaving sensitive, raw marks in their place.

I managed to push him away, which he grumbled at, but soon slipped back into sleep. I sat up and instinctively pulled my knees up to my chest.

I’m not sure if this was a fever, I barely remember what those feel like. Maybe it was? But it left me soon after and I feel like fevers know a thing or two about wearing out their welcome. The interesting thing? Through the entire experience I didn’t consider that anyone or thing else was in that room. Yet, the moment my body returned to feeling like normal, the presence was back. That certainty that something was in the room with us, but with every twist of my head to seek them, they were hidden.

Maybe I’m ill. Maybe I need more rest? It’s getting harder to sleep though, in that room at least. I’ll keep posting about these experiences. Maybe I’ll get to the answer sooner rather than later and maybe it will just be some kind of new house syndrome where an unfamiliar setting puts us on edge.

Thanks for reading.

Arbie X

 

note: check the tags, this is fiction!

Arbie featuring Chidi

This is going to be a difficult post to write. Not because of anything emotional, but because Chidi the cat keeps nudging my laptop off my knees with his nose. He’s pretending he hasn’t been pet in fifteen years (despite not even being two yet) just like how in the kitchen he pretends he hasn’t been fed in twenty years. Chidi has a food problem, meaning he wants all the food all the time. He has also mastered how to convince people we are cruel horrible people, with an expertly tucked tail and pitiful meow. Why? Because there is cream and he knows there is cream and we are the spawns of Satan for not allowing him to eat it all, all of the time.

Or something like that.

Chidi also tries to drink orange juice.

He also dragged our food off the table on Thanksgiving and threw it on the floor then looked at us with an expression of: “What? You knew I would given the chance.”

I love Chidi.

This is Chidi.

Chidi
(he only wore the bowtie for the picture)

Chidi just expertly rested his head on the backspace key and deleted letters as I was writing. Who needs an editor with a cat like this?

I actually intended to write a little bit about X Files in this post. Although there wasn’t a specific thing I wanted to write about. I introduced my husband to it again today (I’ve tried a couple of times I think in the past) and this time he liked it! It wasn’t a failure like with Twin Peaks which he thinks is awful… I just… *Sigh* each to their own. The good news is he actually likes X Files, or it’s because he’s sick at the moment, whatever it is I’ll take it until he doesn’t want to watch it anymore!

I’m not sure what it is about these shows that I like so much. Me and a lot of people like that is. Maybe it’s the mystery, or the small-town mystery vibe some of the episodes have. It’s actually a bit surprising that I like it as much as I do given that I’m not overly interested in aliens and it’s a running theme throughout, even with other supernatural cases. I suppose there’s nostalgia to it as well. I used to watch it with my eldest brother most evenings. Odd that I’d remember that over when I first watched it.

I think soon I might start writing some fiction but not really expect it to go anywhere. If that crops up on here, be aware that a story might start but it might not wind up finished. I keep resisting writing because I don’t believe I have it in me yet to complete anything. But it took me about five years to finish a book. I still hope to one day get around to finishing the others. I understand why it took me such a long time, my mental health being as rubbish as it was, and because of that I also understand I might not ever finish anything again. I don’t want to give up though. So, it might just mean a bunch of half written stories again as I start to put together some beginnings endings and middles.

The one thing I’m hesitant about though is dyslexia. I was tested for it and told that I have it back in university but I never really got the chance to understand how to deal with it. I think it mostly impacts my ability to structure, maybe, I don’t know. Yeah, the truth is I don’t know but I hope to find out how these different things might cause issues for me and learn to deal with them. That’s what I’m trying to say. There’s no point in trying to do the same thing over and over again and then wondering why it keeps failing.

It was nice to write a little bit more today, even if it was pretty forced. I’m happy that over the past week I’ve continued trying to be creative even if it’s been difficult. I rarely feel proud of anything, probably because I know how easily I give up (or I tell myself I give up easily) so maybe I don’t feel proud but I do feel content that I continued posting on this blog. Yeah, that feels good.

Okay, time to end this while the going is good or whatever that saying is.

I hope you’re all safe and well!

Arbie X

not even fit to be called a ramble

I keeping writing and deleting posts and so this is the one I’m going to stick with whether it’s rubbish or not I’m going to continue writing it and I’m going to post it. Deep breath needed after that.

I don’t have it in me today to write anything. My head is a mess, maybe from this cough syrup, I don’t know. I know they can do that but I don’t know if it is that. I just know words ain’t wording right. I’ve looked at prompts but nothing has come to mind other than the prompt itself or an image of the word in my head. As though my brain is learning words through pictures like I’m a kid again.

I used to have this little computer type thing and I think a clown or something taught me words and numbers. My parents mostly taught me, and my teachers, but I like to give that clown its fair shout. Although thinking back on it now it might not have been a clown.

I forgot it was April fools day even though throughout the day I kept remembering. It was that kind of fleeting memory moment though, where it comes to mind and then drops through the sieve back out again. I don’t mind much, I doubt I’d have done anything for April fools anyway. I like jokes, I’m just no good at pranks and I live on the sofa right now.

It’s my devil couch and I won’t give it up, no!

Although this was a fun april fools treat. I wish it were real though!

Screenshot_20200401-231410.jpg

This post isn’t going anywhere. Even my rambles have some kind of structure. This is just typing for typings sake. I hope you forgive me for that. It’s just, I’m at the point in habit building where if I don’t perform the habit then I feel angsty and I don’t want to give up on this writing every day and posting every day too thing. So, I’m sorry about this. I wonder if I went straight from habit to unhealthy addiction.

You know, I’m just going to leave this here. Fergus the cat has come and plopped himself over my stomach, blocking most of my view of the laptop (he has very large ears) and so I think I need to listen to him and stop writing.

I got thinking about that clown that might not be a clown again and I remembered a book I used to read. At the end was a picture of a little girl in bed with her toys on the floor scattered around and some tissues there too. I think of that picture every once in a while. When I was little it used to comfort me for some reason, maybe I was evil and liked other little girls to be sick… no, it wasn’t that. I think it was the colour scheme. I also feel sad sometimes because I doubt I’ll ever see that picture again. Funny that.

Okay short ramble over. Rambles have been rambled.

Because this is utter shite and I believe laughter, although maybe not the best medicine, is a pretty good one, here is another comedy video from one of my favourite comedians about one of my favourite genres (horror):

 

Hope you’re all well!

Arbie X

 

Where’d you come from? Where’d you go?

I thought it might be fun to ask where you’re from. Not because I’m a stalker, I’m only asking for country here not town or postcode! And, where in said country you would tell me to go if I were visiting for a day. Just a fun little virtual travelling game for us to play. I’ll share mine, too!

You can also, if you like, share the country that you would like to visit and the one place you’d see if you could only be there for a day. Hence the whole butchering of the lyrics for Cotton Eye Joe, rather than “where did you go?” we’re playing with “where would you go?”

 

I’m from England and I’d suggest you go to Yorkshire. That’s right, not to London, but up North to where my family is from, and where I played when I was a little girl.

 

Here are a couple of places I’d like you to see:

 

York

York is an old, old city and is incredibly enchanting with an awful lot to see and do in a single visit! There’s a reason I set my book here and honestly, if I ever could, I would live in York in a heartbeat. Or, within a short driving distance at least. I have many pictures from York because it’s where I took my husband when he first came to visit me in England. So, I’m not just saying this, this really is a place I like people to see! I’ll fish through those pictures in the future when I start to do my picture journals.

 

Bolton Abbey

 

According to my Mom, this was my Grandma’s favourite place. I have many memories here, including shifting through the sand looking at stones with my dad. There’s a picture somewhere of my dad carrying me on his back down one of the streams that I’ll have to find because it’s one of my favourites.

 

Whitby

 

I suppose this is because of the little goth kid that is still in me, but I feel like I have to include Whitby. My last memory of Whitby was being stung by a scorpion in a hotel. Yep, I was bitten by Count Scorpula. I still have the scar on my arm from the little bugger. But! That’s not why I’m saying to go. I’m suggesting it because it has a beautiful atmosphere and if you like Dracula then why not see where he supposedly crashed up against the rocks? This is also where my engagement ring is from. My engagement ring has Whitby Jet inside it, not a gem but fossilised wood. Neat, huh?

 

Haworth

 

One of my best memories of Haworth was going with my parents and my grandma (my dad’s mom this time) and getting some cherry lips from the sweet shop that tasted like soap and were glorious… more recently when I went I bought a Wuthering Heights graphic novel that although it doesn’t taste like soap, was pretty good! Wuthering Heights is still one of my favourite books and so visiting Haworth, a village the Brontë sisters are associated with, is something I like to do. It’s also just a pleasant place to be. You might have noticed, but all the places I’m suggesting (apart from York depending on what you do) are pretty relaxing haha!

 

The moors and dales and dales and moors and…

 

To the best of my recollection, I mostly played on Ilkley Moor. But, the moors and dales are both places to see while you’re in Yorkshire. There are obviously many more, but I was only planning to post one and then it kind of went from there so here we have it. I’m leaving you on the moors to find your own way home! A bit cruel… but the scenery!

eheheh

I hope this was somewhat entertaining and that maybe your curious about one of these places. When I was younger, I used to feel a little jealous of my friends jetting off to different countries to be in the Sun, but now I look back on the places I was taken by my parents and I’m grateful. I think it gave me a bigger appreciation for the country I was born in, and I hope that if I do have children that we’ll be able to bring them up in England and drag them to different castles to sit on cannons in the rain, too!

 

Now for where I would like to go…

 

Iceland

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I’ve always wanted to see the northern lights, and so I think right now I’ll choose Iceland. Although, just while writing this there are many other places popping into my mind. Tough luck fingers, we’ve already decided!

 

Sorry if this is incorrect in places or just really jumbled. This actually took ages to put together because my head is fully in doolaley land haha. Thinking is hard!

I hope you choose to join in because I know I have people reading from Australia to India to Canada and I would love to see the places you wish more people knew about or appreciated in your country.

Hope your happy, safe, and well!

Arbie X

 

 

Blogging Insights – Self doubt and writing

I saw this prompt being answered by Melanie over at sparksfromacombustibelmind and felt it fit perfectly with the poem I wrote earlier this week.

The prompt/question is from the blog Salted Caramel:

How often are you afflicted by self-doubt and what do you do about it?

Although my poem was written about my self-doubt when it comes to a whole host of things, yet stemmed from interacting with people (something I try to avoid because of the spiral afterwards) I have a whole host of history with my self-doubt when it comes to writing.

I even started writing a post with the intention to delve into it in-depth, for myself as much for anyone else. A chance to exorcise some demons, so to speak. But I find the topic so uncomfortable that the Word document sits open but with little more than a few paragraphs to it.

So, am I afflicted with self-doubt when it comes to writing?

Yes. Massively so. So much so that after publishing my indie book I took it from advertising, put it to $0.99 (I couldn’t set it to free), and hoped it would just linger in the abyss rather than anyone read it. When people asked what it was called I said I didn’t want them to read it, when a friend who had read it asked if he could share it on his twitter account (where there were people who once knew me) I said no. When mixed reviews came in, despite knowing that I fucked up on advertising (I advertised a fantasy as an urban fantasy) and that everyone has their own preferences, I allowed negative reviews to lead my own thoughts on the book and dismissed positive.

It was as though I was looking for justice to hate my work and I had found it. I both wanted people to read and enjoy my book and wanted to remove its existence from Amazon. I fluctuated on this here and there and eventually just left it alone, where it sits now. I still check it on goodreads and amazon, but it’s a negative feeling, as though I’m picking at a scab and not allowing the wound to heal.

That’s where blogging comes in. Blogging is freedom. Blogging is no drafting, no editing, no more than I ever feel like I might want to, and blogging is liberating because I write here without any doubt. Well, hardly any doubt. The odd thing though? I prefer my blog to not grow. I don’t want thousands of followers. That would be intimidating, and I know myself, I shy away from the spotlight. No matter how much at times I might convince myself I want it.

And, as anyone who has followed me for some time will know, I whine and moan and bitch on here and I write things that are embarrassing to remember having written. It can be like the morning after an intoxicated night and thinking back “did I really say that?” But that’s how I like it. This blog was never here to entertain others or to promote myself, it was here as a blog. As a virtual diary where people can come and go, if they so please. It encompasses all of me, I suppose.

I believe I come back to my blog whenever I seek courage to begin writing fiction again. It serves as both practice writing and practice in posting what I write. And, that is exactly what I am doing now. I want to begin writing fiction again, telling stories, and publishing them and advertising them for others to read. So, this is what I do about the self-doubt that afflicts my writing: I write posts I don’t care about. I practice in different arenas. The same way a comedian might trial their material in a small club before they take it to the big stage, I suppose that would be a way of expressing what I am doing here.

 

There is much more to all of this, including why I believe I harbour so much self-doubt in my writing and what fuels that fire into an important existence. For now, I hope the above few paragraphs answer the questions that were asked. I’m grateful for the prompt because it opened the door for me to begin talking about this, after putting it off for so long.

 

I hope you’re all well.

Arbie X

Song Lyric Sunday: Remember & Ever

Today I’m taking part in “Song Lyric Sunday” a prompt I saw over on Fandango’s blog that is hosted by Jim Adams. I struggled with which song to post and in the end decided to go with both.

My vague interpretation of the first song, Remember, is that memory of how a lover might touch us and how that touch might linger in a gentle way. Whereas, Ever, is when that touch is gone and we understand we won’t feel it again no matter how much we might yearn for it. The two songs together, almost feel like the passage of time of a relationship that has ended: Remember where the two are still together yet at a distance, and Ever where that distance grows greater every night.

My interpretation may be down to being in a long-distance relationship for quite some time, and at times fearing losing that relationship. Although I could hear my husband’s voice at any time, see him at any time, being able to feel his touch was a sensation that was precious to me and I’d hold on to it for as long as possible whenever we’d part.

Both songs are from the album Enchant by Emilie Autumn, which coincidentally is my favourite album by the musician. Emilie Autumn is the songwriter of both Ever and Remember. Interestingly, in an interview Emilie Autumn has said that she didn’t write the song Remember for herself, but it was written for Annie Lennox.

 

Remember

Like a dream I had
In subconscious deep
Here you come again
Only in my sleep
And I remember you
I remember you
Like a memory
of a Time gone by
Many things I’ve seen
Still I can’t deny
That I remember you
Yes I remember the things you do to me

When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you whisper in my ear the things
That only you could understand
When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you touch me softly in the way
That only you can do
I remember you
I remember you

Every other touch
Runs as cold as ice
If I get too close
I may pay the price
But I remember you
Yes I remember the things you do to me

When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you whisper in my ear the things
That only you could understand
When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you touch me softly in the way
That only you can do
I remember you
I remember you

I would recognize your shadow in a crowded room
Change your name a million times
It wouldn’t change my mind
Or what I hope to find
In your heart underneath
In a new rhythm I breathe
‘Cause I remember you
I remember you
I remember you
I remember you
Yes I do

When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you whisper in my ear the things
That only you could understand
When you say my name
When you hold my hand
When you touch me softly in the way
That only you can do
I remember you
I remember you

I remember you
And I want you to say my name
I remember you
And I want you to say my name
Say my name
Say my name
Say my name…I remember

 

 

 

Ever

I’ve been racing for you honey
But you take your love
From under my feet
The very moment I arrive
I hold the invitation in my hand
You smile and I don’t understand
When you tell me the writing ain’t yours
You were the one thing I could count on
Even if your apathy was what I expected
Oh darling I waited and waited to feel your footsteps
And to hear your breath
But maybe I just wanted someone to wait for

You were ever in my mind
You were behind my soul each time
I held it to the flame
You were ever in my precious thoughts
I’d leave a room of angels
Just to be alone
If only to say your name
I never told you I needed you darling
Like a rose needs the rain
How could you possibly know how much
So I reach for your love
Like the moon and the stars
Ever in my sight
Ever out of touch

There’s a spotlight of a holy kind
Think it comes from somewhere
Up in the sky or from some far off lovely place
But this light never ever ever shone on me
At least as far as I could see
So I sat in the dark and I watched you
Now I just cry to myself
When there’s no one around
And I teach myself to walk backwards
Out of any given situation
Yes I can be graceful and try
Not to step on my train and
You don’t have to say goodbye
But I’ll be right here if you want to

You were ever in my mind
You were behind my soul each time
I held it to the flame
You were ever in my precious thoughts
I’d leave a room of angels
Just to be alone
If only to say your name
I never told you I needed you darling
Like a rose needs the rain
How could you possibly know how much
So I reach for your love
Like the moon and the stars
Ever in my sight
Ever out of touch

Now I could paint your portrait
If I never saw you again
When I am old someone may ask me
If I ever loved
And I will speak but they won’t recognize
My words, they’ll say I’m telling lies
And maybe I am
Maybe I am
All I know is

You were ever in my mind
You were behind my soul each time
I held it to the flame
You were ever in my precious thoughts
I’d leave a room of angels
Just to be alone
If only to say your name
I never told you I needed you darling
Like a rose needs the rain
How could you possibly know how much
So I reach for your love
Like the moon and the stars
Ever in my sight
Ever out of touch