There Once Was A Middle-aged Writer, That Had A Dream Of Writing The Best Book In The World. Then He,

Well written! 👍

Dudes, just write. Stop asking me if you should start/continue/finish what you’re writing despite have x, y, or z problem. If you want to write I am in NO WAY authorized to tell you when to stop/start. That’s up to you and always will be.

If you think “no one will ever genuinely like this” you are 100% wrong. 100%. Think about all the trash out there that has fans. I wrote stuff when I was twelve that had more genuine fans among my family/classmates than ANYTHING I never shared with another living soul. It’s impossible to write something no one will like.

If you think “I’ll never finish it so why even bother?” you’re only depriving yourself, man. That’s like saying, “I like this cookie, but I can’t eat the whole bag. Guess I won’t even try one.” ????? Just write the story, to hell with endings. Some of the best works in the world went unfinished by the author/composer/architect, yet we admire the heck out of them. Maybe, instead of thinking you’ll never finish something, tell yourself this is the one you will finish (and repeat it until you do).

If you feel “this hurts to write, I’m too close to the subject material” either set it aside or full speed ahead. You MUST know how many classics, prize winners, and life changers came from someone’s very real pain and experience. Addicts, traumatized persons, victims, quite often they find solace and healing in writing about their experiences. Most importantly, so do their readers.

If you want to write, write. Otherwise only you are standing in the way of what you want.

... Am getting it! 👍

Fordelen ved Fiktiv Symbiose.

Fordelen ved Fiktiv Symbiose.

Jeg kniber øjnene hårdt i. Ellers lukker de sig bare langsomt. Lidt i takt med nikkende hovede. Hvis jeg var indianer, ville mit navn være ‘Nikkende Hovede’. Hov? Hvor kom dén indianer fra? Rysten med hele hovedet, kraftigt, så kinder og ører flaprer og min cykel slår med halen for at holde balancen, gør ingen forskel. Nå? Nu er der en indianer og en cykel der måske er en hund. Det må være nok…

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... Sincerely...

“i like to hide i rather not get noticed i’m afraid to change i’m afraid to be someone else i don’t want people to notice i don’t want people’s opinions i don’t want to hear the good or bad i just want to be left in peace”

— t.m.

"FAMOUS LAST WORDS" It doesn't work. The story is slowly coming to a standstill. And I know why. This is winter in Denmark. February. So daylight has increased a bit: More time for greyness. And even a miserable sun trying its best. Sending out rays of light, only absorbed by souls below zero degrees celsius. My fictive figures falls silent. Even those usually chatterboxes. Like the "Me", "He", "She", all the "I"s, and of course Passo and Laurie. Normally babbling away in their native language, only able to understand each other through my imagination. But they too goes into wordless slow-motion, then turn to something more lifeless than statues of forgotten people. The story doesn't move at all. It's killing me. For real, not just as a saying. Maybe it's all in my head. Or rather, I know it is. That makes absolutely no difference. It's still killing me. Death by forced standstill. Frozen thoughts creaking easily. Killing me. #mantelmomento #danielmantel #laurieandthestoryof #primeiroproximopasso #udenfilter #figures #meandmystory #frozen #standstill #winter #february #statues #belowzero #prose #reality #fiction #frozenbrain #miserable #whenspringcomes #writersblock #andsowtfbecausewhenspringcomesorjusttomorroworinanhouriampastthatlittlestupidblockthatstopsmystoryonlyforashortwhilesoreallywtf... (Usual one-off hashtag...) (her: The Middle of No-where)

And keep in your mind, all the way: YOU are the one that needs to be satisfied... Do NOT care what others might like or not: Their being pointless...

.... (Some days...)

Suicide

Suicide

I sit here in the dark like a mawn      under the moon and stars           All alone                Watching for the break of dawn.

I sit here alone in my corner of the universe.      with clouds above.           blocking the moon, the stars.                No one to hear my verse.

I sit here in the dark, eyes unseeing, head down.      The rain pouring down.           Is there a dawn?                No one will see me drown.

I sit here feeling cold, numb, dead and bound.      Blade in hand.           Whittling away.                Till the blood flows down.

Dawn has broken.      The sun is rising           And there is no light.                Nothing left to be spoken.

K. C. Barry

BLINDFOOLED. He's totally baffled. Once again. So confused, that he's glued to the ground. It happens so often, too often, he's beginning to suspect something obstructing his moving around in this world. The failure might be a wrong wiring in his brain. But it's hard to tell: Like thoughts thinking thoughts about themselves. Like a mind being scrutinized by itself: Like… Now this tree. Is the slight quivering at the top for real? Are the tiny twigs above actually trembling? He can't move past that puzzle. Could it be a reflection? If so, reflected in him or by something outside his hyperventilating mind? Or, just to make things more complicated, a combination? Whatever possible, he makes into a metaphysical question. And, as we know, anything is possible. The tree begins to feel uncomfortable. Being observed so close, it shifts and moves, uneasy, just to avoid that stare. Checkmate! Or maybe he just need new glasses… #mantelmomento #danielmantel #udenfilter #meltdown #wiring #baffling #foolingmyself #mindless #thinkingtoomuch #unreal #stupidtreeinmywaystopsmeinmyexploringrealityasifanythingisrealforreal (Usual one-off hashtag) (her: The Middle of No-where)

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Et utaknemmeligt træ. Det er ikke det mindste trist. Det amputerede træ har det fint. Det garanterer motorsavene, og de kan ikke tage fejl. Træet selv er måske lidt i tvivl. Men det husker ikke så godt, lidt pludseligt, det er kun de inderste og ældste år der er tilbage. Den nyere hukommelse, den med grene og blade, ligger i en filtret bunke. Og det er ikke spild. Det kan bruges som brænde. Træet er lidt forvirret over, at dets erindringer skal gå op i flammer. Godtnok kun de seneste år, men alligevel. Det er dog en hel del år der sådan er skåret væk. Men motorsave véd hvad de gør, træet kan være ganske rolig. Små nye stiklinger vil komme, og nyde godt af den rensede fortid. En frisk begyndelse kræver en beskæring, væk med det gamle. Det véd mennesker også. Det er slet ikke trist. De døde år er fjernet imorgen. Så er der er ikke flere problemer med at huske. Træet burde strengt taget udvise lidt taknemmelighed. Men sådan er det med den slags der påstår at være levende. Minder og erindringer dukker op igen og igen, som ukrudt eller vrangvoksende vildskud. Det er altid noget kludder, når tiden blandes med følelser og tanker fra før. Se bare hvor effektivt motorsave klarer sig uden. Træet fatter det ikke, men savenes fræsen og hurtige hakken gennem ringe af år, er faktisk en stor gave. Også til træet. Men det står bare der, kan ikke engang pille sig i barken. Det prøver at huske sig selv med hovede og arme. Og hvordan dét var. Det sukker lidt i den top der ikke er der, og knager med de manglende grene. Altså! Sådan et træ er egentlig ret egoistisk. Motorsave har også været små og kan da gå i stykker. Det er overhovedet ikke noget de tænker over. Hvem har set en trist motorsav? De har ikke brug for minder og erindringer. Den slags gør ingen nytte, det er kun savsmuld. Træet burde være glad for miste hovedet! At være trist er misbrug af tid. Det er jo kun gammelt brugt ragelse, ligegyldige år der bare skal skæres væk. Det er de så heldigvis blevet. Træet kan knap huske hvorfor det måske var trist. Godt! #mantelmomento #danielmantel #tree #memories #lifeanddeath #remember #rip #fiktion #prosa #endings #gellerup #treesarepeopletoo #symbolic #sh*t! (Usual one-off...) (her: Now Here Nowhere) https://www.instagram.com/p/CLgalOGhOHl/?igshid=1uyvl6g7jwkek