I visit moonlight lakes

At night whilst I sleep

I wade slowly into

The waters so deep

Submerged I feel no dread

For the darkness within

Or of that beneath

As it clings to my skin

I open my eyes

And reflected right there

Out of the blackness

With an enquiring stare

Is my face so familiar

But different I see

My shadow self nodding

And beckoning me

I take a step forward

And then two more back

I gather my resolve

To get back on track

I’m secure in the knowledge

There are no secrets to keep

For my shadow self offers

The answers I seek.

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As you may know, I’m writing a book that is inspired by the 78 cards of the Tarot. Whilst this poem came to me out of the blue, I’m sure it could represent a Tarot card. What do you think?

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To listen, click below, and I’ll provide some company whilst you’re going about your business. (Music by Ribhav Agrawal from Pixabay)

I guess this is the maiden voyage of my revised email offering. Welcome to The Imaginarium. For those of you who have boarded this ship recently, you will have received some welcome emails, so you know my intention for these messages. For those of you who have been sailing with me for a while but may have been tucked away beneath decks recently, A Writer’s Life has evolved and my intention is to share more of my writing with you as well as sneak previews and updates about my book (subscribers only).

Welcome to the Reflection Room. I’m sharing a personal essay with you. It’s my first time writing one. I took part in an excellent Personal Essay course to challenge myself and this was the outcome. Let’s begin…

Reformation

They filed out straight off the social media assembly line. Dark crop tops with matching leggings. I wondered if this was the millennial version of Stepford. Hair pulled back to expose perfect brows. The soft blushes of exertion reached through layers of highlighting and bronzing to announce the triumph of surviving.

I smiled in greeting and was rewarded with one warm smile and a few twitches at the corners of painted lips. I slipped off my trainers and my feet retracted from the unwelcoming slate floor. These socks were all about the grip and not about the warmth. I entered the room on the balls of my feet, my familiar way of walking. Spotting the Stepford instructor, I introduced myself.

“Just give me a sec.”

Okay. It just takes a sec to smile and say hello. Eventually free from distraction, she made eye contact and said something. I don’t remember what it was. I attempted to make conversation citing a mutual person we knew. It was meant to have been an ice breaker, but still — cold. Guess it was an ice maker?

The coolness was no deterrent for me. It was simply familiar. Tolerance builds up over time. Repetitions. Silent treatment from significant males in my childhood and the same with males I had entangled myself with romantically. Progressive overload. My emotional adaptations continued to accelerate. After all, this would make me stronger, right? Perfection, strength and resilience were considered the trophies of success in my head. Whatever the cost to myself.

Familiarity does not equate to safety or even security. It can usurp the anxiety of the unknown though. Because the unknown can be scary. But once we have the first time out of the way, a little more of the blueprint is revealed.

This was not my first time here. The previous time was ok. I had managed to climb the grey stairs bordered by nondescript blue handrails and white walls. The soul had been sucked out of this building, leaving the remains of an unrecognised loneliness. This vibe could have been a sign. Just like red flags.

Here again. Because it was good for me, I’m told? Working towards goals and trying a different method. Well, a different name and face. Reminiscent of my romantic relationships. Same contents, different container.

I picked out the carriage near the window. It was one of six in the minimalist, sleek, stylish (I guess) room. White walls, black ceiling, mirrors down one side that fooled you into thinking there were twice the number of carriages in the room. The carriage. A torture device. Springs and pulleys. A sliding bed, box, ball, ring of doom. The soft beige covering could not soften what was about to happen.

I placed the tiny locker key next to my last-season water bottle. Tiny but important. The locker contained a small bag that behaved as a Tardis, and the emerald coat that had lost the glow that first drew me to it. I couldn’t seem to reclaim that new look no matter how many times I had washed it. I wonder if that’s what happens to us, the more we go through the wash. Do we lose our glow? Do we become dull and devoid of any known colour? Or can we be brightened by stain removers? But aren’t stain removers harsh? Can we only gain our true colour and light by experiencing the harshness of life?

Does it always have to be hard? Do we only receive the reward and the happy ending after we endure the trials? I think I’m due now please, universe. After all, I had brought myself back here again. Maybe this time it will be different? If I’m brutally honest with myself, I know how it will end. I’ll keep going beyond the expiration date. Eventually, sense will pay a visit and I’ll be reminded that I have choice. Options even.

Emotional bruising, mental wounds and scars worn like tattoos that tell a story. Even when we change our minds, realise it’s not for us and move on, there’s usually a cost. Time, money, energy, resources or something else.

“When someone shows you who they are, believe them.”

How many times will it take?

So, I’m wondering, will I enjoy this reformer class? Was it that specific class that I didn’t enjoy last time, or do I not actually enjoy reformer? I know I enjoy movement and exercise. Maybe I’m finally getting faster at identifying what I like. What is good for me. And I’m finding the courage to close the door behind and block entrance to anything that does not serve me.

Maybe.

External influences are huge and it’s often hard to push back and let your authenticity emerge. Tiptoe out. Stride with purpose. Run and jump and proclaim - I am me!

Muscles do require challenge to grow. Physical, emotional, mental and soulful muscles. Change can be a form of challenge. Challenges don’t always have to mean heavier, more of, or greater hardship.

I’m tentative as I climb onto the reformer bed. I got myself here. It still feels cold. I know I’ll get through the session. I might take some benefit from it. But to gain benefit, we don’t always have to experience extreme hardship or pain. There can be gain without pain.

Listen to your body. Your mind and soul. Cultivate your internal senses. Your intuition.

I cancelled the reformer membership. I’m done with that. I’m done with that. There’s something better out there for me. It’s different and I may not know what it is yet. But I’m finished ploughing old, dead, dry ground. This being deserves nurture to grow.

I want the glow back. I want to be shiny and new like silver before it is tarnished. I cannot rewind to before life experiences tarnished me, but I can learn how to shine again. I’m reminded of those solar lamps you have in your garden. They absorb the power of the sun, storing it until the night demands its presence. But I desire more than the luminosity that gleams only in the dark.

I seek the purest energy of truth. Divine authenticity. My reformed self. Bright in the dark and brightest in the light.

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• Is any of this familiar to you?

• When was the last time you felt like you didn’t fit in? How did it make you feel? Did you do anything about it?

• What triggered your most recent reformation? Are you due one, maybe?

• What nourishes your beautiful, essential light?

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If you’d like to hear me read this, then click below: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

8 minute listen

5 minute read

My Substack has been barren for a while. I didn’t intend to leave this long a gap, but life got all lifey! The past few months I’ve unsubscribed from many things in my life and I’m reeling from all the endings. The 30-year career in education. Goodbye. The almost decade-long acupuncture practice. Au revoir (because that may see me again). Responsibilities, projects and obligations out the window, free to find a home somewhere else. It’s been an eventful few months of reflection and learning.

My steady writing practice had waned but I have recommitted myself. Comitted to writing for me and accepting that my words may resonate with many but not all and I am fine with that. So I share these words below as a token of my gratitude for you taking the time to read my work.

T Minus Zero

All systems go! It was time, at last. I could feel the fizzle of excitement inside me expanding into vibrant electric energy surging towards an explosion. An explosion of freedom and power. A power that had remained latent for too long.

Now was the time for me to do the brave thing. I had been building up to this over time, little by little. Hiding in the shadows of my mind, creeping around the corners of my psyche and trying to work out who I was, am and will be.

It’s no mean feat to survive in this world. To try to reach for success, whatever that looks like. We tiptoe around people and spend so much time assessing their needs and fooling ourselves into believing they are our needs too. The power of projection is so potent and potentially deadly. But no more. I can no longer hold back what is inside me. The star yearning to shine its bright light. No wonder I had experienced years of not quite feeling right, not quite fitting in, and at times existing on the periphery of a life I had not planned. I don’t regret the experiences that have brought me this far. They say they make you who you are, but does it really need to be so hard? Do we always have to stand solitary at the top of a mountain surrounded by an expanse of loneliness and ever teetering over the edge?

At times, it’s hard to capture the bright spots of life. The glitter and sparkles of the energy of loved ones and sweet memories of time spent. They can often get buried beneath loss, grief, fear and guilt. This life brings so much illusion and it’s an everlasting quest to see through the mist so you can be who you truly are. So you can know that you are a part of something so much bigger than yourself, and the magic of life and living can be tapped into at any time. Joy and peace can be extracted. We only need to find and trust in the tools to do so, whatever they may be for you.

And so, I steady myself, take a breath and smile as I take that next step. My finger hovers over the key, the cursor drawing my attention to that single spot on the screen. Dare I? I do not know what will come next if I do. And that, I have learned is ok, regardless of the racing thoughts and my own physiology trying to derail me. Thoughts of doubt, fear of failure and anxiety over events I cannot control are tamed now. I remember that I am in control. I am the one who matters. It isn’t selfish. It’s love of self. With that reassurance and conviction, my finger falls gently but with purpose on the key. I clicked submit.

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I’d love to know when hitting that ‘send’ or ‘submit’ button felt significant to you. Let me know in the comments. Which feeling did you need to overcome? What thoughts were going through your mind?

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As it’s been a while, it’s news time! Here is a quick round-up of what I’m currently up to:

• The main ‘pay the bills’ gig is working at a tech company flexing my writing skills (and learning a whole bunch of new ones)

• Teaching Mat Pilates every week (I qualified last year - yep, I’ve been busy)

• Assistant editor for Trembling With Fear, an online magazine at Horror Tree (website for all things speculative fiction and indie)

• Interviews editor for Horror Tree (I get first dibs for the authors I want to interview - yay)

• Occasional articles and posts for Horror Tree and The British Fantasy Society

• Writing my book!!! 78 pieces of writing (flash fiction, short story, poem or prose) inspired by cards from the Tarot deck

  ---

  An invitation for you!

I’m going through a glow-up and re-brand (personally and professionally) and I have an exclusive invitation for you. Read on…

So, is the real world getting you down? External influences and obligations pulling you away from, well, you? Press pause for a few and step into the Imaginarium to explore the place where you can get lost in the Story Studio, ponder and process in the Reflection Room or hang large in the Lyrical Lounge. It’s about reclaiming the time to get reacquainted with you and all parts of you. You’ll find stories, ponderings and poems created by me for you.

The Imaginarium is coming in May!

This content will be FREE but available to email subscribers only - kind of a secret club - but the wholesome kind! If you haven’t subscribed yet, come and join us - we’re building a little community. I’m excited to share so much more with you and for you!

Subscribe now

One last piece of news: the handle for my socials has changed. You can find me here:

linktr.ee/sarahelliott_writer

https://sarahelliott-writer.carrd.co/

https://www.instagram.com/sarahelliott_writer/

https://bsky.app/profile/sarahelliottwriter.bsky.social

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Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode six of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click below: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

6 minute read

“The Blackness. Keep, keep on.”

The first line of one of my favourite songs: Optimistic by Sounds of Blackness. I think it’s quite a clever first line as it refers to the name of the musical group as well as the state many of us enter from time to time. There are so many positive sayings now such as “it’s always darkest before the dawn”, “without shadow, we would not know light”, “rebirth follows death”, “the transformation after the dark night of the soul” and so on. Yes, they are all true and can be helpful and uplifting at the right time. But when you’re deep in it laying on your bed unable to move with a single tear running down your face. Catatonic. Even the tears want to leave the darkness you feel. An emptiness. It’s baffling how you can feel empty and heavy at the same time.

I’ve had times when I thought that I would never know joy and laughter again. That lightness had left my life and never find its way back. It’s hard to feel, no, be that way. It goes beyond a feeling, it becomes who you are. I became skilled at masking. Going out, smiling and socialising but just wanting to come back home. To my cave, to my darkness where nobody could see me and I couldn’t even see myself.

If you’ve ever experienced this, I am so sorry. This state of being is beyond challenging. No matter the cause, whether it’s bereavements (or multiple bereavements), estrangement, or relationship breakdowns, it all amounts to the same: loss.

And so we grieve. Except when we don’t. When my brother and his three young children were murdered I was only 18 years old. My brother had been on a pedestal my whole life and I adored the children, they were my life. Looking back, that was too much for a teenager to hold. There was no bereavement counselling, no mental health and wellbeing support. I took a week off college and missed a shift at my Saturday job at McDonalds and that was it. Back to business. I had to be strong. I was literally holding up people around me who were crying and crumbling. That’s the persona I took on. For years. Every bereavement that happened in the family, I was the strong one. Until I wasn’t and they all hit me all at once.

Not a small steady run of water trickling through a crack but more like the floodgates crashing down. It was a lot.

I survived and continue to survive by reminding myself that I did survive the last time. That it will pass. I’ve learnt over time (and it’s taken some time as well as deprogramming and unlearning) to adjust the expectations I have of myself in terms of how I show up. It’s ok to just keep my head above water. I don’t need to swim the Channel and I certainly don’t need to do it in Butterfly Stroke. I’ve learned tools to help me tread water. Those tools at times involve distraction, keeping busy, taking time out, exploring new hobbies and experiences or reminding myself that my ancestors survived. That’s why I am still here. I stand on the shoulders of those who came before me and this makes me strong; resilient.

I have accepted that my head may go under and I might drown. But I can be resuscitated. There are people around who love me and they are there for me. I am so blessed to have close family and friends who have been in my life since childhood. Loyal bonds of trust and love.

Maybe love is the way through the darkness. When depression has us disenchanted, disappointed and disillusioned. I applaud all of us who make it through. I applaud those who are going through it right now and pray that it passes for you soon.

Healing is not linear. It feels like a spiral and this is such an important reminder for me. I may feel this way now but it won’t be forever. That is the nature of life. Change. Hard but necessary. But, we keep on.

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The blackness
Keep, keep on
Never say die
Keep, keep on
The blackness
Keep, keep on
Never say die
Keep, keep on
Keep, keep on
The blackness
Never say die
Keep, keep, keep
Never say die
Keep, keep on
Never say die
The blackness
Keep, keep on
Never say die
Optimistic

When in the midst of sorrow
You can' t see up when looking down
A brighter day tomorrow will bring, oh

You hear the voice of reason
Telling you this can't never be done
No matter how hard reality seems
Just hold on to your dreams, yeah

Don't give up and don't give in
Although it seems you never win
You will always pass the test
As long as you keep your head to the sky
You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky
You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky
Face toward the sky
Be optimistic

If things around you crumble
No, you don't have to stumble and fall
Keep pushing on and don't you look back, oh

I know of storms and strife
I been around them all of life
Just think ahead and you'll be inspired
To reach higher and higher

You'll always do your best
If you learn to never say never
You may be down, but you're not out

Just be optimistic

Don't give up and don't give in
Although it seems you never win
You will always pass the test
As long as you keep your head to the sky
My, my, my
You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky (you can win child)
You can win as long as you keep your head to the sky
Face toward the sky
Be optimistic

Don't you let no body stop you
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic

You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic

You can win, yea
Never say die

Yeah, yeah, yeah
Optimistic
Never say die

You can be optimistic
You can win (never say die)
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic
You can win
As long as you keep your head to the sky
Be optimistic

Optimistic by Sounds of Blackness (1991)

Phew. Sometimes you just have to let it out. Better out than in as Shrek says. And it felt like the right time in my healing journey to let it out. These last three posts (The Vulnerability Chronicles) have been cathartic. It has been scary sharing this with the world. Raw and unedited, but this is my truth. I encourage others to share theirs. We are not alone and can learn so much from each other. Let’s keep on, together.

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More from me here: https://linktr.ee/Writingforlight

Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode five of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click below: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

Music by Oleksii Kaplunskyi from Pixabay

The smell has faded 
from the scarf she wore 
but your warm hugs linger 
the sound of your soft voice 
a memory echo now 
but your kind words remain 
the warmth of your smile 
no longer brightens the room 
but the glow of 
your love remains 
your charm 
your grace 
your thoughtfulness 
your generosity 
your sense of fun 
your love touched so many 

I miss you 
so much 

mum.

*written when I had a cold and I just wanted my mum 

From my book Warrior Wisdom Sun. It seems to fit this post.

This is part two of a three-part series with me diving deep and uncovering what has influenced me in the way I present to the world and how I feel about myself. As many of you may know, much of this comes from our childhood. I wrote about my dad last time so it only seems fair that I write about my mum now.

What a wonderful woman! Everyone loved, respected and admired her. She really was a bright light in the world. My dad passed in 2009 and my mum passed in 2015. In the last few days of my mum’s life, I experienced what seems to be a whole timeline of her precious contribution. My mum had been unwell for a while. Following a blood test, our GP had Mum admitted to hospital. They did a scan and she was diagnosed with cancer. Eleven days later, she was gone from us.

Eleven days. I am the last remaining child for my mum. I had two older brothers but they have both passed away. One died in 1991, along with his three young children, when I was only 18. The other died in 2006. Yes, I am familiar with bereavement. Eleven days to say goodbye. Everyone wanted to say goodbye. At one stage there were about 17 people in Mum’s room. People came all day every day and I had to be the perfect host, perfect daughter, perfect everything.

Can you see where I’m going here? My mum was amazing and I have always tried to live up to that. She also had very high expectations. I can understand why. Mum had left home and travelled to a foreign country to make a life for herself and the children she would have. It was the Windrush generation and to say it was hard would be an understatement. My peers and I were all taught at a very young age that we would have to work harder, be better and never accept less if we were going to make it in this life and in this country where we had been ‘othered’. We were Black, after all.

I was a straight-A student at secondary school (age 11-16) for the first few years. I brought home a report card that had all As and one B. Mum was not pleased. She wasn’t unkind about it and didn’t shout but she did expect an explanation. I remember being confused about why she had focussed on the grade B when everything else was an A. The B was for effort in music (I mean, really?). Perhaps Mum was hoping I would be a concert pianist. (She did make me have piano lessons when I was younger.) But this was a lesson I learnt. A persona I had taken on. Focus on what didn’t go well. What wasn’t right. What could have gone better. Forget about what you did do well.

And so the perfectionist and people pleaser was born, or evolved. To this day, I can recall a sponsored spelling test that we did at school. It was thirty words. I got the highest score in the whole school. Was I happy? No. I scored 29/30. I should have gone with my first instinct and not put the letter g three times in the word ‘beginning’. I knew it didn’t look right. But you can imagine the pressure I had put on myself.

I have no memories of my mum being unkind. She had a look though, that was present when she wasn’t happy about something or more appropriately - didn’t approve. That suggests judgement and perhaps criticism to some extent. Hello to my own self-criticism and judgement!

I find it interesting that no matter how much we love our parents, how well they treat us and how much they love us, they can still leave us with certain less than positive traits. I am so grateful for both of my parents. I am also grateful that, with support, I have been able to explore, uncover and understand where some of my programming has come from. I am working hard on it. I wouldn’t have been able to do that without knowing the source first.

I am whole. I am totality. I am still working on embodying and living this. Truth can be hard but unless we live it, we miss out on all we can be. And all we can have.

Next time, the final in this series (and subseries), I’ll be reflecting on celebrating what I have overcome, sharing how I’ve moved forward and maybe considering what’s next!

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More from me here: https://linktr.ee/Writingforlight

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Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode four of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click below: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

“If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act—truth is always subversive.”


—Anne Lamott

Eeeek! I feel like a target board and every sentence is an arrow straight to the centre. I needed to read this today. I really did. I have recently been encouraged to journal and reflect upon what I’ve been through in my life so far and managed to overcome. I think it is an exercise in cementing my worth, reclaiming who I am. Remembering and embodying the totality of me. Totality. That word - complete, whole, enough. I’d read that word in a Substack from Lindsey Trout Hughes (Fox in the Dark) and it has stayed with me.

I keep getting these little nudges, subtle hints to do this work. What is this work? Uncovering my truth and sharing it. Whilst founding experiences and events may be different, I know that there are others that share similar emotions to me. My top three challenging emotions or states of being are: grief, sadness and low self-worth.

I’m going to tackle low self-worth first. What does this look like in my everyday life? People pleasing, worrying about what other people think, fearing I am not enough, passing on opportunities to shine because who would really be interested in what I had to say? A recurring experience for me would be ‘romantic’ relationships that I have stayed in for far too long because I’ve been afraid no one else would have me. And that’s scary because society might think that I’m weird. She’s single? What’s wrong with her?

I think every relationship I’ve had has been with someone who was selfish and I followed their lead, putting them first and abandoning myself. Scattering my needs to the wind. Trying to be what I thought they wanted me to be. Trying to be a perfect girlfriend, wife, whatever.

You may be wondering what the source of this behaviour is. I didn’t even recognise it - it took years, decades even (and some therapy). The source of many ‘issues’ or challenges often come from childhood. A relationship with a parent. For me it was my dad.

When my dad died, it almost crippled me. I had days when I was catatonic. I could do nothing. Just lie there with the odd tear escaping from my eye. It was a darkness I never thought I would leave, or would leave me.

I struggled with this because, I had experienced bereavement, loss and grief before (that’s for another post but a sneak preview in a past post here). In the past, though I had been strong. I had learnt the rules, learnt through observation of others. Be strong. Carry everyone else. At the time I thought I was ‘being good’ by doing this. I was searching, yearning for unconditional acceptance of who I was. Unconditional love. I wanted to be wanted. To be enough.

My dad died and so did my opportunity to prove to him that I was enough. That I was worth loving. They say that we mourn the loss of opportunity when we lose someone. We grieve the future we thought we would have. I had been robbed. Again.

I adored my dad. My relationship with him over the years was - varied. Sometimes I felt like his beloved little girl, sat on his knee. And sometimes I didn’t. Parents do the best they can do with what they know. They draw on their knowledge and experience. I’m not making excuses. Sometimes it isn’t enough. I understand though and I am filled with love and forgiveness for my dad. He may be gone but I know he is still here with me now, cheering me on and supporting me. This gives me comfort. I draw on this in my dark times.

Occasionally, my mind fleets to the question: what would my relationships have been like or my life experiences if he hadn’t said to me as a child:

“I wish your mum had aborted you.”

I love you dad, always. I understand. I am grateful for everything you have given me, shared with me and taught me (even indirectly). Thank you.

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Whew, that was a lot. I hope that it reaches the people it needs to reach and that my vulnerability here hasn’t gone to waste. It’s not about shaming or outing my family. It’s about understanding who I am, how I came to be and the trajectory I am on. It helps me continue to grow and to embrace totality.

Here’s a poem from my book Warrior Wisdom Sun. It seems to fit this post. Thank you for reading. And I mean that sincerely.

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Music by Oleksii Kaplunskyi from Pixabay


A line from the film 
A father daughter hug 
on screen 
makes me ask 
why 
why couldn’t you 
stay long enough 
so we could have 
more hugs 
why 
why did you go without 
creating more memories 
hearing you say 
I love you 
holding me like a 
lost little girl 

I felt so lost 
when you left 

so broken 
so empty 
without purpose 
I wanted to see that sparkle in your eye 
hear the questions you used to ask 
the stories of home 
you would tell 
your deep singing voice 
your laugh 
your cakes 
your banana fritters 
your patties 
your generosity 

your love 
dad. 

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Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode three of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click below: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

Early in my teaching career, way back in the nineties, I was friends with another teacher. We started teaching the same year in the same school with classrooms next to each other. Whilst teaching has changed a lot over the decades, it has always been challenging. A class of 35 children including 23 very immature boys can really test your mettle. It’s a steep learning curve when you first start teaching and it all comes in thick and fast! My teaching friend and I used to discuss ‘break the pencil’ days. This isn’t as it may appear, a day where you got so mad at the class that you snapped a pencil. It was the opposite. It was a day when you were writing and the pencil lead would break rendering you a blubbering mess. You weren’t upset about the pencil, it’s just that you could not take anything more in that moment.

Sound familiar? That incident that manifests as your breaking point. The microsecond that sends you spinning upwards into high atmospheres then plummeting down to hit the ground hard. And it doesn’t end there. You go through the ground into the shadowy depths where even dwarves fear to go. A harsh moment in time. How do we bounce back from that? We all have our own tools, strategies and support systems (feel free to share in the comments) but we do come back. Deep down, we know that this feeling, these feelings, this painful way of being will pass. There is a reason the word resilience exists.

When the darkness finds me and sets up home (easy because it already has foundations), I remind myself that it will pass. This doesn’t make the feeling any better in that moment but it gets me through the next moment and the next (and hey, it gives me something to write about!). I praise myself for the little things. I got out of bed - yay me! I focus on everything I have done, no matter how minor and try to pull the focus away from the things I haven’t done. It helps me to sit in it without becoming completely crippled.

I’ve been getting into the habit of it now. I look for pockets of happiness even when everything is going ok. Flexing my squirrel happiness-hoarding muscles so I can build up credit. We have become far too used to running on empty - no energy left but still going like a maniacal Duracell bunny!

I had a day where I knocked over three drinks, tripped up a couple of times, lost something and had my cat bleed (poor baby) on my white blanket. Yes, in the moment I was frustrated and demanding to know why this was happening to me today but I tried to flip the script. I had gratitude for the fact that; I had something to drink and could refill it at any time; I owned the item that I had lost and it must be in the house somewhere; I didn’t break any bones when I tripped; I have a cat and access the veterinary care - and yes, even the blood came out of the blanket!

I know in the grand scheme of things that people are dealing with so much more than these somewhat minor inconveniences and I have dealt with so much more in the past too. But, it can be the small thing that tips you over the edge sometimes so why not look for the small things to actually build you up?

I challenge you dear readers to a spiritual scavenger hunt. Over the next few weeks, see if you can:

• identify something that made you laugh out loud (and save that feeling)

• recall a kindness from a friend (or even a stranger)

• find an item at home that brings back fond memories

• write down three occasions when you felt loved

• say thank you for that last-minute save

I would love to hear how you get on. Let me know in the comments or hit reply! Spring is just around the corner and winter is over. Let’s look to nature for inspiration for starting new things, returning to old projects and taking one step further towards our goals!

I did say I would share some of my writing with you and as it’s been a while since I sent a newsletter, I’m sharing a poem and the shortest of stories with you. Enjoy!

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Spilt

It took but a split second
the glass now horizontal
the floor shiny with 
its unexpected new layer
it wasn’t the first time this week
that water had flowed
overflowed
was there a message
I paused to consider
and in that moment
I realised
the message may be
to simply be
to stop
breathe
sigh
instead of letting the world
and my life 
rush by
the water had spilt 
and the clock kept ticking
the water had spilt
and my heart kept beating
the water had spilt
and it was fine
this time
and the last
there would have 
been a time
when it felt like
the worst thing
that could happen
the final straw
the final crack of the camel’s back
water spilt
tears spilling down my face
emotions flowing
overflowing
but not today
I stayed in my flow
let the emotions and water come and go
I shall take a moment 
to recognise my growth
celebrate
and so
I
raise
a
glass.

A drabble (story with 100 words)

Separated

Lost without its partner; peeking sadly from the mourning dark. Heartbroken,  longing for its twin. They had constantly hung out in the same position yet in different places. Swinging happily, receiving compliments everywhere. 

At night laying side by side, comfortable; a perfect pair. That final warm hug had separated them. Caught wrapped in ringlets not wanting to let go. Eventually released but never the same. Weakened. Gravity called, separating one from the other. 

A search, but too late for the other had been swept away. Discarded with the debris from the night, destined to join the community of lost earrings.

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Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode two of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

6 minute read

There is always a spotlight on this time of the year in many (not all) parts of the world. Expectations pumped up on steroids, neverending plans and preparations and so many artificial lights that the stars seem to have retreated. Retreat. To some, the word may represent failure or a backwards trajectory. For me, it means to draw back. Stop and step away from the sparkly things vying for my attention whatever form they come in.

This is not always an easy task but it is a necessary action; taking that time to reflect, recharge and REST. Remembering who I am and realising that I am not simply a reflection of the outer influences.

Last week someone asked me what I had made peace with this year, and what I was still working on making peace with. Big question, right? I took a few moments to journal before I responded. Those few moments of internal examination helped me see where I was there and then and how far I had travelled—just those few moments of contemplation. Imagine if we took more time than that? The revelations!

I have made peace with the fact that it’s okay not to finish the list. It’s okay not to try to be what I think others expect me to be. It’s more than okay to be me and whatever version of me presents at the time. We’re all changing and evolving all the time and staying curious about yourself is an ongoing challenge. I think of it as a puzzle box. But one that changes like a magic labyrinth. Not just one puzzle box though, many sat nesting inside each other like Matryoshka dolls. I solve one puzzle box, open it and yet another one meets me inside.

Could this be frustrating to never get to the centre? Maybe. I’m curious though and I like to work things out and try different things. It is what sustains me as a writer. There are SO many different directions to go in. So many genres to try, so many different beginnings and endings and so many words to play with. I could never get bored.

This year was busy. Too busy if I’m honest. Next year might be busy too but it will be busy with fewer activities. More pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard). I’m holding myself accountable right here. Expect to see more examples of my work. I’m playing around with different genres and subgenres. Some pieces you might like and some you might not. I’m taking advice and pleasing myself as the reader first. That’s where I’ll start and we’ll see where it goes.

I want to share a story I wrote on my phone on a bus journey. I’m sharing it because I had SO much fun writing it. It was written in real-time so is based on real-life events. I reached my destination before I finished writing the story so I had to complete the ending a few days later. I haven’t edited it. I wrote it to pass the time on the bus journey as I was on a social media detox at the time (like right now). I was smiling the whole time - what joy! I hope it makes you smile too. Thanks for reading and see you in a month or two!

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Bus

Fancy a storytime? Listen here:

Music by Oleg Kyrylkovv from Pixabay

4 minute read

I could have honestly danced and sung up the road. Seriously, Gene Kelly would have had nothing on me. Nothing on today’s to-do list except to meet my friend in town for lunch and do some shopping.

Even waiting for the bus didn’t seem like a chore.  The notifications board read one minute, and exactly on time, along came the bus. I stuck out my hand as is customary to hail the bus down. 

Oh, not the number bus I was expecting but hey ho. I got on anyway. I found it strange though that the bus driver had pointed upwards before I boarded. I shrugged my shoulders and found a seat.

Although I had shrugged my shoulders, I couldn’t shrug the feeling that something was wrong. I scanned the other passengers on the bus. They looked ok. Not suspicious at all. They didn’t look like they were in fear for their life being secretly held hostage with a count down to a bomb ticking away and praying that Keanu will save the day.

Then my imagination began to run riot. Was there someone upstairs? Some kind of controller like the mind flayer from Stranger Things? I surveyed the passengers again. They looked numb, empty but full of nothingness. My goodness - they were clones! But actually, considering the bus route I was on, their vacant presentations would make sense - inbreeding and all that.

Calm down, calm down, just breathe. My heart started to straight up Colin Jackson race. Skipping over beats like Colin would over hurdles or one of those ladies in a step class who is clearly listening to the music that is NOT playing.

Was it getting hotter in here? Hot flush? I was of that age. But no, I had heat and cold co-existing in perfect harmony on my back. I rewound the scene in my mind. The bus driver was communicating something to me clearly. I could see it in his eyes. I knew I should have finished that psychic development course - shame it clashed with Pilates.

The bus turned the corner. Eh? This wasn’t the way to town. I rolled my eyes, a few times too. Good job no one was paying attention to me as it did look like I was having a fit. By this point I had worked myself up into such a state, I had to get off the bus. Plus my bladder was calling and there was a KFC across the road whose facilities I could use. 

I needed to make it there as soon as possible. But as is the norm for Mercury retrograde, obstacles were thrown in the way. This time in the form of a little girl all dressed in pink. She looked like a stick of candy floss and judging by the way she was jumping up and down, contained just as much sugar. Cue the relentless stream of questions about where I was going and why and about how she was going to spend her day (get an IG account love).

By the time I had escaped the clutches of this verbal jailer, I had to run (ok walk briskly) to the bathroom. I had seriously heated up by now with all the pressure, so I unzipped my trendy Parka coat.

Do you remember those old western movies where a stranger walks into a saloon, the music stops and everyone stares? Well, that pretty much describes my experience as soon as I came out of the bathroom. Whatever top ten track that was playing on the radio stopped. And I don’t mean just stopped - you could actually hear the needle scratch across the record.

Why were they staring? Did I forget to put my wig on again? Was I wearing odd boots? I thought again about my wardrobe. Crap. I glanced in the mirror and realised I had pulled out the vintage T-shirt.  The one that read - Save animals, veganism is the way. 

Veganism had been outlawed only a few years ago and the laws supporting that were strict. I could hear the sirens. I had inadvertently been discovered, caught and soon to be captured!

My mind flicked back to memories of reading Charles Dickens and thinking about how back then, I would have been fed gruel and water for a lifetime. Not now. Now I could only look forward to being force-fed turkey twizzlers, chicken nuggets and horror of horrors - real butter! It was a hard lesson to learn. Let this be a warning. Do not get dressed in the dark.

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Welcome or welcome back! Series three, episode one of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

I am Sarah and I am a perfectionist. There it is. I said it, it's out there. I didn’t think that I was a perfectionist. This was my image of a perfectionist:

1.   Someone who gets everything right all the time (errors be gone, you are not welcome here)

2.   Someone who lives in a house that could pass for a showroom

3.   Someone who picks at every minute detail

4.   Someone who is the best at all they do (all the time)

5.   Someone who does not rest until everything is ‘just so’

And there it is, that last point. That is the one I identify with. I may not have my books arranged in alphabetical order, my wardrobe sorted by season or colour, or the contents of my cupboards perfectly spaced out. However, I will push past the boundaries of my energy and resources so I can achieve that desired result. Staying up until the early hours to complete a report that doesn’t need to be in for another week or so; spending hours editing a piece that was fine after the second or third edit; beating myself up over the tiny error in speech I made way after the event, and constantly assessing.

My personal view of perfectionism? Two main villains constantly stir things up, provide misdirection and throw so many spanners in the works, that the price of metal increases.

Comparison

“There can be only one”

Thanks, Highlander. Too many people are striving to be that one whether they are self-motivated or being pressured, pushed and persuaded by external forces. We look at another, see what they are doing and wonder not only if we can do it too, but whether we can do it better. Here comes the not-so-nurturing self-talk: why haven’t I got/done that? Should I be doing that or have that? Is there something wrong with me? Maybe if I try harder? They have that and they look successful and happy. Maybe if I have that, it will be the same for me?

It might start with sibling rivalry or envying classmates in school. It could be the person who does the same thing as you or wants the same thing you do. Comparison will raise its head and if not cut down will grow out of control like dandelions on ecstasy.

Fear

The great and mighty what if? What if they judge me? What if they don’t like it? What if I get it wrong? I could go on, but I think you get the idea. Our perfectionism is a way of attempting to control outcomes. Planning to the nth degree so we know what will happen, and what the end product will be. And then there will be no ‘what if’. Banished. (Breathes a sigh of relief.)

Consider the following to see where you fall on the perfectionist spectrum:

• The lengths you go to achieve your desired results

• The unreasonably high expectations you set yourselves (likely influenced by another’s expectations)

• The stories you tell yourselves to motivate you

• How you react when things aren’t going your way

• The actions you take when you do not get that desired result

It can be draining being a perfectionist, living up to the image we create for ourselves regardless of the consequences. We can’t cease until it’s perfect, polished and precise. Even when the voice in our head tells us it’s time to stop, like a possessed being we carry on. We fear the all-powerful judgemental entity whose prying eyes prepare to peel away our armour, our flesh, leaving us exposed, vulnerable and imperfect (but could that be where our power lies?).

This perfectionist armour protects and hides us. What is it that we don’t want them to see? Why is it that we must keep ourselves safe? Retaining control through our perfectionism. Perhaps if we spend some time pondering these questions, we can start to acquire a greater understanding of ourselves.

Then we can accept without judgment or blame. Then we can detach from the course of action the perfectionism is telling us to go in and return to our wise inner knowing. Our unfettered truth. Where the scales fall from our eyes, the clouds clear and we see through the illusion.

One step at a time.

So, readers, I apologise for not getting a newsletter out to you in September. I took a break in August but had planned to return to you last month. But it got busy. Really busy. Life happened and I had to pause, pivot and regroup. I chose to lay down my perfectionist arms and just be realistic. I’m glad I did otherwise this revelation and this specific newsletter would not have happened.

It's all part of a writer’s life. It’s all part of life. We learn (or not), and we change. The one certainty in life.

Let me know if you’re a perfectionist or a recovering perfectionist too. If you have tips, send them this way! I’ll leave you with this.

“I think perfectionism is just fear in fancy shoes and a mink coat, pretending to be elegant when actually it's just terrified. Because underneath that shiny veneer, perfectionism is nothing more that a deep existential angst that says, again and again, 'I am not good enough and I will never be good enough.”

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear

Here is what I’ve been up to more recently. I was invited to chat with a couple of awesome beings on their podcasts:

Molly Ovenden: Closer, the podcast

Daizi Rae: Talk Poetry to Me

And I have been flexing my fingers writing:

I Will Inspire You To Write Stories That Will Bring You Riches (a drabble featured in Trembling With Fear on the Horror Tree website)

Can This Mere Mortal Resist? (guest post on the British Fantasy Society website)

Avoid Being Turned into a Toad: what you need to know when you’re writing the witch (article on Horror Tree website)

And the two books are still available -

Warrior Wisdom Sun

United Under One Sun

See you in November when I will have a written story to share (because what I create is obviously part of my writer’s life, and I wrote this one on a bus!). Thanks for reading.

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4 minute read

Heyyyyy! So I thought I would do something a little different this month. It’s still relevant to the writing life, it’s actually very relevant in fact. It’s coming up to the end of the school term so from next week I’ll have a few weeks off my 9 - 5 job. I’ll still be treating my wonderful acupuncture clients but I’ll have a couple of weeks off that too. I am exhausted! It has been quite a year all around. I’m definitely planning some rest but it turns out, I actually have difficulty with that. I was having a coaching session with my incredible creative coach Chelsey Pippin Mizzi and Chelsey asked what rest would look like to me. I promptly responded with a to-do list! Chelsey reflected that back to me (coaches are great like that) and it gave me food for thought…

A few days prior, a friend of mine gave me a couple of journal prompts so I’m going to journal those right here, live to share with you. No drafting or major edits (apart from spelling and punctuation). Welcome to my inner world readers…

What is surrender to you?

What? Give up? Let go? Wave the white flag? It feels like it’s not a good thing. In fact, a bad thing because it means you have lost and are a quitter and everyone says that’s bad, right? You just have to keep going and going like the Duracell bunny. Don’t stop, regardless of the cost. Tenacity. Stubbornness. Resilience. Fortitude. Strength. Are these not all respected qualities? I guess you can have too much of something. There is always a tipping point for everything.

Or surrender can also mean letting go of that which is no longer good for you. Having the strength and wisdom to open our palms, relax our bodies and simply exhale. This feels like a more ‘acceptable’ version of surrender and also one that may be applauded in some arenas.

So, what does it mean to me? It means battle, a to and fro in my mind. Reasoning backwards and forwards, taking an age to reach a decision. Pros and cons. Reluctance. Fear. Fear of the unknown. Lack of control.

When control and structure have kept you ‘safe’ your whole life, it’s a big ask to surrender, release the plan and just let things be. Flow with what happens.

We grasp on so tightly. Is it easier for someone to prise our hands open, or to suddenly release our fists or do we open them slowly like a lotus flower? I guess it depends on what we are surrendering.

My biggest challenge is letting go of the identity I thought I had. The programmed one, curated by external forces and institutional influences. Surrender that and let my true self float to the surface. Floating seems more akin to surrender than exploding out of the water, don’t you think? Beauty in emergence requires a shift in mindset.

There was a second journal prompt: what it feels like when I don’t surrender.

Tight neck and shoulders
from the weight of expectations
restrictions
diversions
panic punctuating every action
a washing machine of worry 
whirling anxious thoughts
around and around
feet throbbing in pain
from pounding that treadmill
of presentation to the world
body constricted
bones whispering their last messages before they crack
under the pressure 
of holding on
grasping, clinging, gripping
an inhale held
and never released

Whew. I love writing. Never moreso than when I am writing for me. Not for likes or followers or conversions or sales. For me in my own creativity. Unwinding the thoughts in my head. Letting myself breathe and exhale.

This is an extra newsletter for the month of July so there won’t be a newsletter in August. Holiday time. Time to surrender, rest, reflect, recalibrate, and renew. I’m glad I shared this with you - just wrote it raw and uncensored. There’s probably more to come out but that will take time, and care.

“They don’t understand, they don’t listen and it’s so frustrating. You remain unheard, unseen and misunderstood. Your words remain unspoken. Those words that percolate in your brain, bubbling away but with no satisfying release. Just entrapped hot air. How can they understand, show empathy, act as allies and be reminded of the connection we all have if you hoard your words? You keep your literary expression of self locked away in notebooks, on apps, trapped behind  screens.”

https://www.writingforlight.com/

I’m so looking forward to September when I’ll get to work with some of you to support you getting your words out. It’s a brave thing to surrender your words to the massives. You’re not alone though.

Let me know if you use the journal prompts above, or drop a word or phrase in the comments that comes to your mind when you think about the word ‘surrender’.

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode six of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

3 minute read

Fear. It answers for so much doesn’t it? It can spur you on, keep you back and also hold you captive. Sometimes all at once too. I experience fear the closer I get to executing an idea, presenting something new to the world or approaching a finish line. It’s strange, isn’t it? We should be so happy when we come to the finish line. I mean how many times do you see an athlete stop just before that final white line, turn around, go back or fall to pieces with wobbly jelly knees just a few paces away? Not often. They storm towards the end, excited, exuberant and exalted! With good reasons too.

I think the finish line signifies endings and endings herald new beginnings which involve that giant scary monster known as change. I’m in the process of finishing the plans for the self-publishing course From Your Shelf to Theirs. It launches in September and many times I’ve considered delaying it until next year. I could think of logical reasons for this but the motivator was fear. I have to acknowledge this and plough on with the original plan.

It’s important to pause and examine motivation. Often, it’s attraction or aversion that directs our decisions and it can be challenging to drop down into our inner wisdom and find out the truth of what is really happening. Sometimes we need reassurance, motivation and encouragement. That’s what I’m offering on this course, so you don’t have to go it alone. We work in creative community.

As I write this, it’s Windrush Day. 22nd June 1948 when Tilbury Docks ‘welcomed’ many peoples from the Commonwealth, predominantly the West Indies. My parents were part of the Windrush generation and I’m first generation ‘Black British’. There have been so many TV programmes about the early experiences of my parent’s generation. I like to read about this, watch programmes and discuss it with the elders who still remain. Their struggle spurs me on. They overcame SO much so that our generation could have a chance at a decent life.

I channel that strength whenever I have fear on me. They were scared but still carried on and I will do the same. There is still so much division within societies. Too much intolerance and misunderstanding. If people nurtured their curiosity to find out about others and employed more empathy, things would be different. I believe everyone has a story to tell and a voice to be heard. This is why I published and I encourage others to publish as well.

How will they know or ever understand if we don’t tell them?

The next time fear visits you, draw on what you will to garner that courage to keep moving. Keep stepping forward even if fear is riding your back and know you can rejoice when you reach that finish line. Then, let others know too. Because we are not alone.

If you need a cheerleader to spur you on, guide you on your journey of self-publishing or give you that final push to press publish, I’m here for you.

Click for more details here.

And even more below!

Faqs For From Your Shelf To Theirs

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode five of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

3 minute read

Sticks and stones - we know how that saying goes. But we also know that words can hurt us. Who can cast their minds back to a time when something someone said really upset them? It could be a childhood memory we're still holding onto now. A pattern that was formed, a behaviour introduced or maybe further reinforced.

Similarly, we may have memories of words that have energised us, really powered us up. Words have power. No wonder ancient traditions placed such importance on sharing stories as a community. Sharing is caring.

We all have a story to tell, even if we feel we cannot find the words or that no one will listen or be interested. I certainly felt this when I first started sharing my poems. I thought no one would think them any good - that they weren't real poetry. It amazed me when people said they resonated with my work, enjoyed reading it, or listened attentively when I performed. I had made a connection.

Connections are the first step to forming a bond. Bonds are the foundation of belonging, nurturing, recognition, respect and empathy. That’s why I'm so keen to keep writing, publishing books and encouraging others to do so as well.

It doesn't matter what kind of writing we do whether it’s stories, memoirs, poems, blogs, essays or articles. We place a precious part of ourselves in our work and expose it to the unknown. We dig deep to find the courage to share.

Recently I had the pleasure of speaking with a self-published author Karen Jackson. Karen’s book Overwhelmed: and other words we give our power away to really resonated with me. It’s a great book - part memoir, part journal and a wonderful guide. It allows you time to think and explore your thought patterns and ideas as well as examine your relationship with words. You can meet Karen here when we did a video interview:

https://horrortree.com/watch-our-interview-with-the-amazing-karen-jackson/

I’m so glad writing has returned to be a part of my life. It allows me expression, freedom and release. My poems started off as a way to unearth unprocessed emotions. To unlock them from the hidden depths of the darkest dungeons I had banished them to. They needed to be liberated, allowed flight and the opportunity to transform. Even when I write articles or fiction, there’s something of me woven amongst those words. It might present as a certain point of view or a reference to something that has had an impact on me. Or when I look more closely at the fiction I’ve written, I find it is inspired by a past experience, feeling, longing or projection.

My words are an extension of me. They live. They need to be nurtured and fed, allowed light and sometimes the water of tears. When they are shared with the world, they allow more to come in. Clicking publish and sending a part of yourself out there takes courage. It changes you and the gamble is most certainly worth it.

“We believe it’s time to come out of the shadows, be seen and heard– and that’s why we help aspiring authors reach their self-publishing goals.”

https://www.writingforlight.com/

P.S. The tables were turned when Karen interviewed me for her podcast. Take a listen here to discover more about my journey here:

Keep writing, keep the words flowing and hold onto the vision of becoming an author. It’s not out of reach!

The second book! - order here

The first book! - order here

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode five of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

They say the third time is a charm. Success at last after trying and failing. Well, it worked for Henry VIII and his third wife. But what if your first time is a charm? What if after all the hard work you’ve put in, everything actually goes brilliantly? Can you then not have a second-time charm? Is the second time somehow doomed because the first was a rousing success?

I wrote an article for a website (about how to sustain a writing habit - read here) and when I say I was so pleased with how it turned out, that’s an understatement. It was the first time I had really written an article and I’d done significant research and lots of editing. I was careful to get the right balance between being informative and letting my voice come through. I enjoyed reading it and I was overjoyed to share it with others. Then, I had to write a second article.

Oh, the procrastination, the half-hearted attempt at pulling some notes together. The tentative few words tiptoeing onto the page. No catwalk strutting here; I was afraid to commit to the page. I was so scared of it not being as good as the first one. I had put so much pressure on myself and set such high expectations that this second article stalled for a while like a car with a banana in the tailpipe!

I know why this happened. The eternal weight of expectations from my childhood. Growing up as a Black kid on a council estate, the family community message was that life was not going to be the same for me as it was for kids with white skin. I was going to have to try harder, work harder, be the best, do better, excel, do better some more, beat the rest, do better. Did I mention do better? Seriously, I was a straight-A student for a while at school and the day I brought home my first grade B on a report card was a day I have never forgotten. It was like all the As on the card had disappeared like vanishing ink and the B that was left was highly offensive to my mother.

It’s almost like an insult, isn’t it? That one lost mark, 99%, 19 out of 20. The judgement just oozes out of your pores. But it’s not your judgement, is it? It didn’t actually start with you. People pleasers, perfectionists and pure high achievers are not born, they are made. Created and evolved over time due to external factors and influences that impact the internal and before we know it, this identity and programming blinds us to the truth.

It doesn’t matter.

Our life is not in danger.

There is no punishment…now.

I’m being completely honest when I say, this is a work in progress for me and I often have to remind myself. What helps is community. I’ve had this conversation with my awesome coach Chelsey Pippin Mizzi who reminded me that this is part of the process and the lived experience of creatives. Did this make me feel better knowing others also experienced this? Yes, it did, especially when I had a similar conversation with one of my co-hosts at Writers’ Hour who was experiencing the same paralysis when writing her second substack.

Treat life like an experiment. Try different things and one may get you the result you want. The ones that don’t aren’t failures. You are learning something from those experiences even if it isn’t evident at first. Test things out and see what happens. One day you may be surprised.

So, did I get the second article written? Yes, and I was pleased with it. I still preferred my first one and that’s fine. There are reasons for that. I’m not worrying about writing my third one though. Does it matter whether or not the second time is a charm? Only if you let it. Celebrate that there is a second time!

And I am celebrating as I share with you another second accomplishment. My second self-published book is out now: United Under One Sun: Poems of transformation through joy and pain. It is my second book but it’s my first time collaborating with three other poets and getting our work into one shared collection. I wanted to share the book cover with you and the blurb. I’d love for you to get a chance to read it. I’m delighted with the outcome.

I have learnt so many lessons about self-publishing I was able to apply the second time around. So much less stressful when you know what you’re doing.

And to celebrate the book's publication, I’m running a free poetry and writing workshop as part of the Nottingham Poetry Festival. It’s an online event - From Monotony to Inspiration: Poetry and writing workshop to bust blocks! You can find details here and at the time of writing, there are only a few places left!

We often crave seconds don’t we? In the hope that they taste as good as the firsts.

Keep an eye on the website - updates coming soon…Until then, celebrate. Let’s not diminish the second attempt even before we start.

If it’s your first time here, here’s a quick welcome video to view at your leisure: watch me

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode four of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

2 minute read

Published. What a word! It carries so much weight. Positively a wheelbarrow full of excitement, nervousness, relief, pride, and accomplishment and I could go on. Apparently, Mercury is in retrograde now and reflection, review and redesign are called for. I have been reflecting on my first Substack post where I wrote about self-publishing my first book and then in later posts went on to discuss claiming my identity as a writer.

Like all of us, I believe, I have something to say and something to share. To help me reach beyond my Instagram account and Substack subscribers, I have launched a website today! Here it is!!!

www.writingforlight.com

I am SO happy! I have been working with an awesome web designer who has been a dream to work with so I must give a shout-out to Mollie Carberry

I had a whole different newsletter planned for you this month. I was planning to introduce you to one of my authorly friends who I interviewed. I will share that with you another time. I also have more exciting news for you that I will share in the May newsletter.

For now, as a thank you for subscribing and reading, I want to invite you into the membership space of my website:

Enter here: and use the password: Lightwriters23!

I also want you to be the first to know about my first poetry and writing workshop that I’ve planned to mark the launch of my website. Check this out:

Stuck? Stagnant? Feeling stupid? Time to bust those blocks that hamper our wonderful creativity sometimes. Lacking motivation? Can't face another Instagram prompt? Find inspiration in your everyday lives - it's all around you! We'll have fun in this poetry and writing workshop exploring and getting back to the basics of play!

An inspiring poetry and writing workshop to help you unearth inspiration hidden in plain sight! Be gone creative blocks - we've got this!

Sign up here!

I’ll keep it short and sweet today as I’m so excited I do feel like I have overdosed on the sugar! I would LOVE for you to check out my website. There are details of my course From Your Shelf to Theirs on there too. More on that another time.

Let me know what you think and please, please share widely. Thank you!

www.writingforlight.com

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode three of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

Happy spring everyone! Bunnies, chocolate eggs, daffodils, and nature bursting into action. Will you be bursting into action? Time to take a peak from the blanket you’ve been hiding under and see what’s waiting for you out there in the world.

Speaking of blankets, can you believe we had snow here in England a couple of weeks ago? I mean, come on. Who muddled with nature’s notifications and messed up the calendar? But it is England so weather wise anything goes!

Anyway enough of being so British and talking about the weather, let’s get back on task. As promised we’re going to dip a toe in the ocean of the publishing world. 

You’ve put all the pieces together, proofread until you thought your eyes would melt and publishing is the next checkpoint on your journey. Great! Awesome! Go you! But you’re at a crossroads now. How do you get that long-awaited idea of a book into your actual trembling with excitement hands?

Two routes that you can take: traditional publishing or self-publishing. And like everything there are pros and cons. Your decision will be based on what it is you want, where you are now and where you want to be. Consider:

• Do you have rainy day (back to the weather again) money to invest in publishing your book?

• Do you have the resources needed to edit your book, format it for print, print it, design a front cover and market it?

• How soon do you want your book in your hand?

• Do you have visions of your book on the shelves of Waterstones and Barnes and Noble?

• Is receiving a decent percentage of the royalties important to you?

• Do you have the time and patience to learn new skills to get your book completed and out there?

• Are you confident in finding a literary agent to help secure a publishing deal? Do you have a query letter ready to go?

• Have you explored the different options for self-publishing?

• Do you have a community to help you?

• Do you have anyone to help you?

Woah I’m firing questions at you like a quizmaster. Move over Bamber Gascoigne. Okay, let’s sum up the advantages and disadvantages of both. Bear in mind though that depending on your position and viewpoint a disadvantage could be reframed to an advantage and vice versa.

Traditional publishing:

Advantages

• Wider distribution, marketing and publicity

• Access to the experts: design artists, editors, proofreaders

• Recognition of being with a publisher

• Connections to industry experts, wider networking

• Less upfront costs and potentially an advance payment

Disadvantages

• You don’t own all the rights

• Your vision may not align with the publisher's vision

• Not as much creative freedom

• You will still have to market and publicise yourself

• You will receive a lower percentage of the royalties (15-20% as opposed to 65 - 70% for example)

Self-publishing:

Advantages

• Complete creative control

• A higher percentage of royalties

• Don’t need an agent or publisher

• Can publish faster

• Own all of the rights

• Launch on your own timeline

Disadvantages

• Limited distribution

• Need to self-finance (note here: you spend as much as you decide to. I spent money on courses to learn about the process. Outside of this, the only additional cost was buying the Procreate app so I could have more options when designing a front cover)

• Less access to experts to assist in the design, editing etc.

• All falls on you unless you gather a team to support (I wrote in community at Writers’ Hour and learnt from others in London Writers’ Salon)

  ---

If you’re new here, you may not know that I self-published my first book Warrior Wisdom Sun in March 2022. I took the self-publishing route because I didn’t fancy the idea of someone else owning all of the rights and me only receiving 15% of the royalties. I also didn’t want to wait and work for years trying to write a query letter, find an agent, write a book proposal and secure a publisher. I did explore various self-publishing routes and chose Amazon KDP over IngramSpark and Lulu because:

• it had a larger royalty return

• option to print on demand

• option to purchase author copies so that I could potentially take my book and sell it elsewhere (if you buy your own ISBN and don’t use one from Amazon)

• easy to share a link with others to purchase

• it was right for me at the time

I wonder, what will it be for you? Consider what you want your author experience to look like and what resources you currently have to put into it. Need someone to chew the cud over with? Hit me up for one of my micro office hours and let’s chat. Click here - I’d love to meet you. But if you’re feeling shy, leave a comment or hit reply.

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See you in April when I’ll be sharing an author interview with you! So excited for you to get to know one of my authorly friends! Until then, here’s a poem for you!

The thing about dreams
Is they change
Sometimes you want this
Other times that
You achieve your dreams 
They end 
And then you fall flat
You watch your dream
Crash and burn 
But remember 
They all have their turn
When we dream as we sleep
There is fluidity
And the dreams 
They seep
One into the other 
No beginning or end
Lines blurred
Memories muffled
So we have to pretend 
Hold the dream gently
No grasping 
Caress it smooth
It can’t be contained
And needs space to move
To evolve, mutate, transform 
Is the norm
To change
Rearrange 
And become a different form.

Music by Lexin_Music from Pixabay

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode two of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

5 minute read

I made it! Half a century and I feel so honoured as I personally know that not everyone has the privilege of reaching the age of 50. I celebrated my 50th birthday a couple of weeks ago and it was exhilarating!

Once upon a time, I would have reached a birthday milestone and mourned all the things I hadn’t accomplished yet, how my life wasn’t what I expected it would be at that age, and beat myself up for not achieving the set goals.

The set goals - set by who? And for the benefit of who? We spend so much time trying to live up to a set of impossible standards. Standards that can grind us down rather than lift us up.

On the morning of my birthday, I experienced deep gratitude and a real acknowledgement of everything I had achieved and where I am now. I wasn’t looking to the future and pressurising myself to reach new goals. I simply enjoyed the moment. I enjoyed the family and friends in my life. I enjoyed my cards, kind thoughts and gifts. I enjoyed my house, the clothes on my back, food in my cupboards and glorious nature a stone’s throw away.

But most of all, I enjoyed my independence and confidence. That true knowing of self that doesn’t necessarily come when you reach a certain age, but when you develop a certain mindset. A mindset that grows over time through lived experiences. 

Writing and self publishing my own book was an acceleration in this process. Holding the book in my hand and knowing that I did it. That I respected, honoured and cared enough about myself to pour time, energy and resources into making this happen. I matter. I have something to say. I deserve to be heard. I know people want to experience my words.

These may sound like a string of affirmations and could be used as such, but for me, they are simply - my truth. My book changed me. I feel enhanced and there has been such a flurry of activity since then:

• hitting the open mic scene with some spoken word

• becoming more active within London Writers’ Salon (see what I’m up to here)

• having poems and a drabble published

• writing for a website

• interviewing authors for a website (same one)

• working with incredible, talented people

Did I need to have written and published a book to achieve all this? No, but I needed the confidence that going through the whole process has given me. I revealed the real me and I only started with a few words. Then a few more. And some more. Until unbeknownst to me at first, I had a book!

There was a lot I had to learn, perceived barriers I felt I had to overcome and mistakes I had to make. But first I had to decide whether to self publish or go the traditional publishing route. Which would be best for me? I’ll share more about traditional vs self publishing in the March newsletter.

Ok, you know that I have skilled myself up and published a book. Well, I want to take it a step further and see you fantastic writers take your words out into the world! There’s no need to do what I did and spend hundreds and hundreds on courses, get all hunched up and bent over reading through millions of blogs, and become glassy eyed watching YouTube tutorials. 

I’ve retraced my steps and picked out the best bits. I will be launching a course later this year, tentatively entitled “From Notebook to Paper Book” where you can join me on a six week adventure supporting and guiding you through the Amazon KDP self publishing process. Just think, at the beginning you’ll have a selection of poems, stories, prose, memoir and by the end you will be able to click a few times and order your own book! Hold it in your hands. You will be an author!

So, in full transparency, expect to read a little more about the upcoming course and how it came into being. I’ll still be chronicling my writing life because it’s all tied up together.

If this feels like it’s not really for you then feel free to unsubscribe. No hard feelings. I get it. Our email inboxes need to be rationed. If it is for you, then hold on for the ride and know that as being part of this community, you will get the tasty tidbits and offers before anyone else! If you know of anyone else who might be interested in self publishing, feel free to share the newsletter!

Questions or queries around traditional vs self publishing? Not sure if you’re quite ready to publish?  Hit me up in these micro office hours I’m offering to subscribers only.

A fifteen minute chat to chew the cud. Limited slots. Limited availability. I’m only offering it to you lovely lot for sticking with me.

Book your slot right here!

Questions? Hit reply and let’s start a conversation. Happy writing! See you in March and thanks for reading (or listening). 

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If it’s your first time here, here’s a quick welcome video to view at your leisure: watch me

Click to hear me recite the poem

Take a glance 
Back over your shoulder
Look how far you have come
Look how high up you are
See the view
Take it all in
You made it
You know
You feel it
That joy
The ecstasy of being
Doing the thing that 
Has you smiling and laughing
And excited
And hungry for more
And wanting to tell everyone
And share
 
The fact 
You have found 
The holy grail
Of you
And loving you
Gratitude abound
Peace throughout
Joy overflowing
All hail the light. 

©2022 Sarah Elliott

From: Warrior Wisdom Sun by Sarah Elliott

Buy the book or get a free excerpt here

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Welcome or welcome back! Series two, episode one of A Writer’s Life! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

3 minute read

How do you know when? When to throw in the towel, give it a break, give up or just simply say no? No pain no gain, they say. Anything worth having is worth fighting for. What doesn’t destroy you makes you stronger. All of these sayings elevate the state of hustle, bustle, challenge, fight and let’s face it; hard work.

Does it always have to be difficult? No. Sometimes what you want does come easily and unexpectedly. An opportunity out of the blue, a miraculous kindness or something exactly the way you want it paved with the most glorious, shiny, smooth and easily accessible gold — whatever gold means to you.

The messages I received as a child, (received is a really gentle verb as it indicates my hands were open and welcoming when in actual fact, there was no choice) were very much to do with the fact that not only did I have to work hard, but being Black, I had to work way harder than anyone else. I had to be up there with the best. Cue, unrealistic expectations I placed on myself that would be riding my back for a very long time.

This set my scales out of whack and made it difficult for me to find the right balance. I worked hard in everything under the impression that my worth was somehow tied to how many hours I put in, what my grades were and how much I did for other people. When would enough be enough? Never. Once you’re married to that mindset, no fancy lawyer can secure a divorce from it. It’s down to you. You have to extricate yourself. Be the hero in your own story as they say.

My life has a way of telling me when I have overdone it by smiting me down and forcing me to stay still. At time of writing, last week I had to call the ambulance service because I was having an asthma attack. It was scary stuff. I’d been struggling a little with my breathing as the sharp changes in temperature trigger my asthma. I ignored the signs though and instead of going into hibernation, I was carrying on as if I was at full strength Duracell bunny power. The ego was fully in control and my intuition was giving me side eye. Talk about learning the hard way!

I have learned though. I’ve let go of those expectations I didn’t even realise I had. I know when to stop, when enough is enough and to say no. My ongoing challenge is deciding to stop, taking that action and sticking with the decision. Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I don’t. The most important lesson I have learnt through this spiralling process is to kick judgement out of the arena. With the most impressive spinning, jumping, seven combination martial arts kick you can imagine. 

The external world judges us with a set of criteria so convoluted and impossible to meet, it makes no sense judging ourselves as well. Eyes are on you all the time. Turn your own sight within and do what you need to find that acceptance of self. It may come and go but try to make it welcome and it will stay. Acceptance is so underrated but it is a mindset that is so nurturing, protective and is your absolute number one ally. You may throw in the towel, you may keep going to the bitter end. Learn the hard way or don’t learn at all. Whatever, take it as it is.

The takeaway: Do we always have to let our ego run the show? Take a moment to consider who is in charge and if need be, take the reins and choose your own direction.

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Next time: Some news about what I’ve been up to - author interviews, new book and new opportunities.

Listen to the poem here:

The voices are so loud today 
a cacophony of sound 
clashing 
screeching 
disharmony 
whirling in my head 
deafening me 
blocking out all the good things
I worked so hard to gain 
the voices are screaming to me 
the lies they scream at me 
you’re not enough, they’re better, who do you think you are, you’re no good, you’re too fat,
you’re too thin, you’re too ugly, you’re too stupid, you’re not intelligent enough,
you’re not beautiful enough, you can’t do that, you can’t do that!

the voices are screaming today
so I pick up my remote and I press mute 
I pick up my remote and I press mute 

I pick up my remote and I press mute 
because I am in control 
I have the remote 
I can choose

I have the remote 
I can choose 
whether to visit the past 
stay in the present 
plan in the future 
I have the remote 
and I can choose 

I can pause and sit with the picture 
enjoy the present 
without fast forwarding to the future 
and going on and on and on 
and worrying about what may be 
or rewinding back to the past 
and re-visiting and re-visiting 
and remembering and remembering
and regretting 
and worrying about what I could’ve done 
should’ve done must’ve done 
but didn’t 
I have the remote 
and I can stay with the present 
I can enjoy the present 
I can mute the voices 

I can increase the volume 
and hear the truth that is being spoken to me 
I have the remote 
I have the control 
I have the choice.

©2022 Sarah Elliott

Taken from my book Warrior Wisdom Sun: poems on battle, lessons and liberation

Buy the book or get a free excerpt here:

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Welcome or welcome back! On to episode six, the final in this series! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_For_Videos from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

The word failure is so loaded. Think about the images that come up; negative and shaming. Whether it is an image of a dishevelled looking person wandering the streets or one of a graded paper with a big red F on it. Failing is falling into the abyss to battle with a Balrog and it is not fun.

I didn’t pass my driving test the first time. I failed twice. What I did not fail at though was trying again. My resilience and tenacity sent me back to once more attempt that dreaded reversing round a corner! But how many times do you try? When do you have to call time? One disappointment is enough but when they keep emerging again and again like mogwai in a swimming pool? It’s worse than the pesky gremlins themselves.

Perception of failure differs from one person to the next. We can consider what makes it a failure for us. What is this expectation we have of ourselves and is it really ours? The worse thing failure can do is stop us in our tracks. Or worse still, a fear of failing stopping us from even starting. Paralysis. Stuck. Blocked.

What was the issue for you? Didn’t reach that word count? Submission rejected? Not heard back from that contact who was recommended? Just can’t seem to tie up the end of the story? Nothing going right or even in the remotest direction of right? No? GPS totally offline? I feel you. I really do.

They say a fail is a ‘first attempt in learning’. But what if it is the second, third, fourth and so on? As part of a course I am on, we were asked to write down our dream. I hesitated. I did not dare to dream because I could not shake the fear of failing. 

What is it to fail?

• to not reach expectations

• to not win

• to not succeed

• to not complete something

A lot of negatives here and that is why failing feels so emotive, pulling us downwards into a bog that we struggle to clamber out of. By the time we crawl out, darkness has fallen and we have lost our way. There is nothing wrong with seeking help. Reach out to someone else who experienced a similar fail and find out how they survived to fight another day. 

Maybe all of the points listed above are valid, however instead of what we did not do, consider what we did do. Allow the little wins to stack up and reward ourselves. Eventually they will be tall enough to tower over all these perceptions of failure and disappointment. Offset a negative thought with a positive one. Whatever works for you.

E.g. What a failure I am. I only wrote 200 words this morning instead of 1000. OR - great, some success - I sat down and wrote this morning and I still have the afternoon and evening.

You are not failing. You are, like everyone else on the planet, learning and growing and it’s going to look different. It has to because you are different at each passing hour. Why do I keep on failing? Because I keep on trying and that’s not a bad thing.

The takeaway: Consider how you can make a failure successful. Is it the action that comes from it?

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Next time: A Writer’s Life will return on a monthly basis in 2023 with series 2. The focus will be on publishing - getting that book in your hand. In the meantime, I may drop into your inbox every now and then with a piece of writing or news I want to share with you. Don’t be a stranger - you know where to find me!

More from me here...

Listen to the poem here:

You never bathe in the same river twice. 
You never walk the same path twice. 
You never eat the same meal twice 
because you are ever changing. 
Each inhalation of oxygen is different from the last 
each exhalation of CO2 is different from the last 
it changes the earth 
and as the earth changes so do you, 
nothing stays the same. 
It may come back in cycles, 
but it spirals differently each time 
the river is different. 
And so are you, 
you never bathe in the same river twice.

©2022 Sarah Elliott

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A brief hiatus from my regular series ‘A Writer’s Life’ but I am a writer and this is my life (cue Eamonn Andrews). In this piece, I talk about women’s ‘stuff’ including periods. Too much for you? Scroll on. No offence taken.

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A six word story. I’ve been playing around with these whilst exploring flash fiction. I figured that as well as being a story, it would work as a title too so I’m diving right in.

Have you ever had a mic drop moment? Where no other words can be said? There is no rebuttal, response or possibility of rewinding the situation. I had a mic drop moment a couple of weeks ago. It wasn’t just a mic drop moment though. It wasn’t a simple drop; it was a demolition with reverberation that spread way past the point of impact. The moment expanded and I was left suspended.

I didn’t really understand why what she had said had affected me so much. Ok, let’s be honest. It upset me. It rattled me to my core. It left me feeling hollow.

I had gone to the GP for a routine cervical smear test. Yes ugh, as horrible as it sounds. I could cope with that though. It was when the nurse was collecting information about menstrual cycles. I’d not had a period for well over a year. There is so much conversation around peri menopause and menopause that I felt that I was very clued up and (so far) pretty much symptom free. The general support for women in the UK around this isn’t that great to be honest but woman to woman, I was expecting a gentle approach. Instead I got:

“Well you are post menopausal then.”

A six word sentence. It did register at the time but it didn’t sink in until a few days later.

In that one sentence, I felt my whole life judged. Gavel smashed down. Sentence handed out. Dreams crashed.

My sentence: to forever be viewed as one who had failed. No children, no husband (I divorced him but that’s another story) and no legacy. To make things even worse, I share a house with a cat. I had visions of me in a rocking chair, grey haired, glasses, wearing a hearing aid and surrounded by miaowing felines.

I really struggled rectifying this in my thoughts. Yes at one stage in my life I had wanted children (I really hope all those people who constantly asked me when am I having kids and did I ever want kids, are reading this by the way) but I had changed my mind. I had decided I did not want children and that should be ok, right?

Wrong. So much pressure to conform. Those six words meant it was over for me. No chance of that happening even if I did change my mind. There was a creeping fear though. Not creeping like pretty ivy found in a secret garden, but more like the thorns surrounding Sleeping Beauty’s tower. If I was menopausal, was I now officially old? Is this classed as old? I mean yes, I have grey hairs and I do wear glasses but to be called old. Nope. I was resisting that; I don’t care if the Borg say it’s futile.

And there it was. Realisation. It wasn’t that I feared being considered old. It was shame and embarrassment around the fact that I was being so vain about it. I always used to comment about my mum dying her hair and how she shouldn’t be so vain. Ha! The apple does not fall so far!

You know what I think made it worse? The fact that next year I have one of those birthdays coming up. You know the ones that end in zero. My god-sister told me that on her thirtieth birthday, she lay on her sofa crying and bemoaning the fact that her life wasn’t what she had expected it to be at that point.

Enough now people! These societal expectations of women are crippling; destructive and backward. However that said, this is the society we live in but it is my responsibility to regulate and decide how I respond.

So I am flipping the script. When I went through puberty it was scary but exciting and I knew I was growing up. I had so much to look forward to. This is another change in my life as a woman (I’m a fixed zodiac sign so change brings challenge for me) but it is also a transformation. I get to do things differently, expect different things and if I want to, actually BE different, just by being the authentic me.

Honestly if I managed to navigate all of the changes in my life so far then I clearly have the tools to navigate this one. I might even be sailing towards the smoothest waters of my life. Ones where a gentle warm breeze carries me forward and I don’t have to paddle or row anymore.

The Grey Havens of the Elves, here I come. It’s not the end, it’s a new beginning and I’ll be strutting into it with grace and confidence!

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They made it look easy 
the trees 
change happens gracefully 
the energy spent in growth 
of deep green leaves 
luscious fruits 
fades in time 
the fruit drops 
the leaves change colour 
and the trees let it happen 
no complacency 
no mourning 
no gripping or hoarding 
even when the leaves fall 
trees shed no tears 
because they know 

it’s part of a cycle 
it has to happen 

for life to continue 
for seeds to grow 
for buds to emerge 
for nature to repeat 
they make it look so easy 
the trees.

© 2022 Sarah Elliott

Taken from my book Warrior Wisdom Sun - click to order

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Welcome or welcome back! On to episode five, the penultimate in this series! If you’d like to hear me read this, then click here: (Music by FASSounds and Music_Unlimited from Pixabay.)

4 minute read

The villainous dictator sat smug on his throne. His weapon of cruelty and control a mere finger push away. He could end this muse; this fiery passion of creativity with a simple flick of a switch. No more artistry for that creative. Another one smite down, smothered; all energy sapped. His laugh echoed from the depths of his being amplified by his cavernous lair.

Come on creative! You’re sat there thinking that you are powerless. Your muse kidnapped and your niche refusing to return, out there in the cold, isolated and exiled. Did you ever consider that the master criminal behind this is in actual fact the thoughts in your mind?

These thoughts can certainly cripple us, whether fuelled by our internal experiences or external forces. I have read so many articles about needing a niche for your writing. Some advise that you can’t really develop and progress without one, whilst others say go ahead and write anyway.

Trying to find my niche did slow my progress for a while. I thought I was doing well. I had written loads of poems. The problem came when I felt I had to define myself by deciding on a niche. What is it that I write about? What do I want to share and how? Writing the bio and synopsis for my book took me ages as I tried to sum up my work.

I really did feel like my niche was out there somewhere but I didn’t know whether it would suddenly appear or if I had to go hunting for it. Was I keeping it captive somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind?

Let’s examine the word niche though: 

“comfortable or suitable position”

“specialised segment of the market”

(Google dictionary)

So if the first definition alludes to comfort then that really doesn’t resonate with me. My writing was not birthed from a place of comfort. I have had to work at this and the themes of my poems certainly don’t reflect comfortable times in my life - more around overcoming the not so comfortable times. And suitable; come on now. This is a trigger. Am I suitable? Do I fit in? Am I up to standards? Am I good enough? Right enough? I am not going down that rabbit hole. I am here to stand out not to fit in and I won’t evolve if I subscribe to external (and internal) judgement.

The second definition just frightens me. Specialised? But doesn’t that mean that I need to be experienced, skilled and knowledgable? No one starts off like that.

Can you see how these definitions could potentially stop you even getting started? And if you did get started, you might feel obligated to stay in the same lane forever. Creativity shackled. No thanks.

My best writing takes the stage spontaneously. Those words are always waiting in the wings ready to weave a wonderful performance under the spotlights. Inspiration strikes me from out of the blue. Sure, I can write from a prompt or a theme but I still need that freedom to flow. I refuse to limit my writing range.

But just like life, if I choose to write how I want, when I want and about what I want, I may close some doors. There needs to be some structure to balance the free flow. Writing as with any art needs practice, specific input and focus. Whether you are writing for leisure or really wanting to make a career out of it, at some point you make choices.

Sow your writing oats, play around, explore and see what captures your heart. You are not tied in. Sure you can make a commitment to a certain niche but there is no small print. You can change your mind. Don’t jump ship at the sight of the first wave though. Persevere. You will find a niche and you may decide to change it at some point. Because you can.

Get your James Bond gadgets out and bring that niche back in from the cold! If they have been captured by the swirling thoughts of lack and limitation in your mind, go rescue them from that megalomanic ego that is always trying to usurp your plans. You have got this. No niche does not mean no start. Start. And start again. And keep starting over.

The takeaway:

Niche or no niche, you can still write. It’s YOUR choice.

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Next time:

Foiled again: why do I keep on failing?

More from me here...

Listen to the poem here:

Expression is massive
Creating magic 
For the masses
Who crave a break 
From the mundane 
So sick of the same
Praying for the assembly line 
Of the blue pill life of strife 
To stutter, stall, disintegrate
Be slashed with a knife

Flying in from the realms
Of inspiration, authenticity 
And total dedication 
Come the whizzing word wizards
Playful poets
Seductive speakers 
Sparking total admiration 

Whirling wands of wisdom
Spouting spells of rhyme
Stories of lives well lived
Enchanting, enthralling 
Sublime and Divine.

 
© 2022 Sarah Elliott

(Prompt taken from IG @spoken.lyrik)

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