It's been a while since I updated you on the happenings around me. So I figured I'd get back into the swing of things.
I had a pretty good weekend. Saturday saw me off to a workshop on "Starting your Own Business". Someone advised me to go there and check it out because as a freelance writer I am basically self-employed and should have the data they were offering. So I boarded the train and set off on a cross-country expedition.
I have to admit that the workshop was a bit of a bust. I can't say that I got too much from it, but it was nice getting out a bit. This writing business can be a very lonely endeavor. As a writer I seem to spend most of my time in front of the computer and don't really get out much.
When I got back home late in the afternoon I decided to just chill out in front of the TV. I'm a bit of a sports freak and spent the rest of the day watching the cricket and rugby. On Sunday it was all football (soccer to the Americans).
If you see my last post I republished the story that I submitted to a magazine for publication. It's the first piece I've ever tried to sell. And I have to admit that I'm as nervous as hell about it. I don't know how I will respond if it's rejected by the magazine.
I believe that it's a fairly decent bit of writing and that it should be published. But I guess it's a writer's lot to be forever at the mercy of the editors' likes and dislikes. If they like it and publish it I will officially be able to call myself a professional writer. If not then it's back to the drawing board.
I would really appreciate if you would have a look at the story and let me know what you think. Realistic feedback and criticism are what I need, not the usual "oh, that's nice dear" I get from friends and family. I got some very good advice on it from my "literary adviser" (a.k.a. mom) and made a few alterations to the story.
Post your comments.
Thanks.
Monday, 10 August 2009
Friday, 7 August 2009
Short Story
Here is one of my latest stories. I wrote this recently for a specific magazine. I submitted it yesterday. I hope they accept and publish it. If so it will be my first officially published piece.
Let me know what you think of it.
She adjusted her mascara, thickening the edges of her lashes, adding just a bit more body to them.
Putting down the brush, she stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. How long had it been since she’d made a sincere effort to look good? I knew that recently it had all seemed so pointless to her. There had been no one to look good for.
But it had been very different before. Years ago she’d always tried her best; when we were dating, and even during our marriage. But I had been too busy to truly notice her efforts; too busy with the bills, with work, and with endless other things – things which have absolutely no meaning at all now. I’d taken her for granted. I realise it now. I never told her how much she really meant to me. I’d always just assumed she knew. Surely she must have recognized that the reason I worked so hard was solely for her, to provide her with all that she could ever need and more; to give her a home she could be proud of; to let her reside in the security of knowing that her man was “taking care of things.” It was my way of proving my love.
How naïve and foolish I was. I hadn’t even noticed that instead of bringing her in closer I was driving her away. And now it was too late. Too late to tell her how I felt, too late to do the things that mattered, too late for anything. Everything had changed.
She had met Brian through mutual friends of theirs. They had struck up an instantaneous rapport, soon becoming fast friends and confidants. He was a recent widower and was looking to fill that void in his life. She too was vulnerable, also desperately seeking a stopper for the hole in her life – a hole through which it seemed her life was seeping, slipping away.
When I saw the way that they looked at each other I knew that there was more on the cards than just friendship. I was proven right when he had called her up asking for a date.
I could tell that she was nervous, apprehensive. She brushed her hair again. When she finished she looked down at her hand, at the ring I had bought her all those years ago. She toyed with it before slowly taking it off and placing it carefully in the jewellery box. Looking back into the mirror she sighed, “It’s not really cheating though, is it?”
The question was more rhetoric than anything else, an effort to convince herself rather than an actual search for an answer. But how would I have answered it anyway, even if I could? My chest tightened and the lump in my throat prevented any sort of response. Cheating? Oh Lord, no. How could it be? I knew that this date would make her happy. And even if I had wanted to stop her, I loved her too much to stand in the way of her happiness. Despite it all, I knew that she still loved me. That was why she was suffering so much. But that was exactly why she had to go tonight. No matter what, I knew that it was too late for us. And she had to move on. The only way I could make her happy now was to let her go.
Standing behind her I reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice and went back to rearranging her hair.
It’s so true, I thought, sometimes if you really love someone you have to set them free. We’re both trapped here by our feelings for each other; trapped by our need to ensure that each other is happy, even though we know that it could never work for us.
She stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror again. The tiny ghost of a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. I knew that there were doubts and uncertainties flashing through her mind. I knew that she was consumed by an inner conflict. Right now, at this moment, she would even be considering if it wasn’t too late to call Brian to cancel the whole thing altogether.
Yes, I thought, it is too late to cancel. He’s going to be here any minute to pick you up. But it’s not too late for you.
I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her that it was alright, that this was the right thing to do, that I was fine with it. But there was nothing I could do or say as I stood there helplessly. I knew that this was the hardest part; the first decision to move on. But I was sure that it would get easier after that.
I finally managed to find my voice, “This is your chance – our chance – to find real peace and happiness. Be smart and don’t let this one go begging.”
But my words were unheard, and just then the doorbell rang. She gave her hair one last flick and went downstairs to answer it.
I didn’t follow her down. I knew that the choice was hers and hers alone to make. And anyway, I couldn’t bear to watch her making it – no matter which path she decided to take. Would she break my heart by seeking comfort in another man’s arms, or would she condemn us both to endless misery by hanging on to something that couldn’t continue to be?
Looking back at that night I see that it turned out that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for. She did make her decision. She went out on that date and had a great time. Even though her relationship with Brian didn’t really develop into anything special, as I had hoped it would, it did give her the impetus to go on looking for something new.
And a few years later she found that something she’d been looking for. He was a very caring, loving man and looked after her very well.
But that first date was the important one. In fact it was the first time I’d seen her smile – really smile – since before the funeral.
But that was all years ago, and she’s happy now. She has a new life and is enjoying it. And I feel that I too, now that I know she’s doing well again, can move on – now it’s my turn.
But I still check up on her every once in a while. And I still love her and know that she loves me. How bitter-sweet it is that she’s finally laid me to rest so we can both live again.
Let me know what you think of it.
MOVING ON
She adjusted her mascara, thickening the edges of her lashes, adding just a bit more body to them.
Putting down the brush, she stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. How long had it been since she’d made a sincere effort to look good? I knew that recently it had all seemed so pointless to her. There had been no one to look good for.
But it had been very different before. Years ago she’d always tried her best; when we were dating, and even during our marriage. But I had been too busy to truly notice her efforts; too busy with the bills, with work, and with endless other things – things which have absolutely no meaning at all now. I’d taken her for granted. I realise it now. I never told her how much she really meant to me. I’d always just assumed she knew. Surely she must have recognized that the reason I worked so hard was solely for her, to provide her with all that she could ever need and more; to give her a home she could be proud of; to let her reside in the security of knowing that her man was “taking care of things.” It was my way of proving my love.
How naïve and foolish I was. I hadn’t even noticed that instead of bringing her in closer I was driving her away. And now it was too late. Too late to tell her how I felt, too late to do the things that mattered, too late for anything. Everything had changed.
She had met Brian through mutual friends of theirs. They had struck up an instantaneous rapport, soon becoming fast friends and confidants. He was a recent widower and was looking to fill that void in his life. She too was vulnerable, also desperately seeking a stopper for the hole in her life – a hole through which it seemed her life was seeping, slipping away.
When I saw the way that they looked at each other I knew that there was more on the cards than just friendship. I was proven right when he had called her up asking for a date.
I could tell that she was nervous, apprehensive. She brushed her hair again. When she finished she looked down at her hand, at the ring I had bought her all those years ago. She toyed with it before slowly taking it off and placing it carefully in the jewellery box. Looking back into the mirror she sighed, “It’s not really cheating though, is it?”
The question was more rhetoric than anything else, an effort to convince herself rather than an actual search for an answer. But how would I have answered it anyway, even if I could? My chest tightened and the lump in my throat prevented any sort of response. Cheating? Oh Lord, no. How could it be? I knew that this date would make her happy. And even if I had wanted to stop her, I loved her too much to stand in the way of her happiness. Despite it all, I knew that she still loved me. That was why she was suffering so much. But that was exactly why she had to go tonight. No matter what, I knew that it was too late for us. And she had to move on. The only way I could make her happy now was to let her go.
Standing behind her I reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice and went back to rearranging her hair.
It’s so true, I thought, sometimes if you really love someone you have to set them free. We’re both trapped here by our feelings for each other; trapped by our need to ensure that each other is happy, even though we know that it could never work for us.
She stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror again. The tiny ghost of a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. I knew that there were doubts and uncertainties flashing through her mind. I knew that she was consumed by an inner conflict. Right now, at this moment, she would even be considering if it wasn’t too late to call Brian to cancel the whole thing altogether.
Yes, I thought, it is too late to cancel. He’s going to be here any minute to pick you up. But it’s not too late for you.
I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her that it was alright, that this was the right thing to do, that I was fine with it. But there was nothing I could do or say as I stood there helplessly. I knew that this was the hardest part; the first decision to move on. But I was sure that it would get easier after that.
I finally managed to find my voice, “This is your chance – our chance – to find real peace and happiness. Be smart and don’t let this one go begging.”
But my words were unheard, and just then the doorbell rang. She gave her hair one last flick and went downstairs to answer it.
I didn’t follow her down. I knew that the choice was hers and hers alone to make. And anyway, I couldn’t bear to watch her making it – no matter which path she decided to take. Would she break my heart by seeking comfort in another man’s arms, or would she condemn us both to endless misery by hanging on to something that couldn’t continue to be?
Looking back at that night I see that it turned out that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for. She did make her decision. She went out on that date and had a great time. Even though her relationship with Brian didn’t really develop into anything special, as I had hoped it would, it did give her the impetus to go on looking for something new.
And a few years later she found that something she’d been looking for. He was a very caring, loving man and looked after her very well.
But that first date was the important one. In fact it was the first time I’d seen her smile – really smile – since before the funeral.
But that was all years ago, and she’s happy now. She has a new life and is enjoying it. And I feel that I too, now that I know she’s doing well again, can move on – now it’s my turn.
But I still check up on her every once in a while. And I still love her and know that she loves me. How bitter-sweet it is that she’s finally laid me to rest so we can both live again.
Monday, 3 August 2009
Head in the Clouds?
I've wanted to be a writer since e'er I remember. It's been a dream of mine which I've longed to turn into a reality. It has always sounded to me like fascinating work, living off my creative juices and filling the world with my ideas and inspiration.
But whenever I told someone about what I wanted to do I always seemed to get the same reaction - a dubious look on the listener's face and a wash of comments like "That's nice, but what about doing something serious with which you can eke out a career" or "Head in the clouds again? You know that it's a tough field, millions of challengers, and your chances of success are very small."
But whenever I told someone about what I wanted to do I always seemed to get the same reaction - a dubious look on the listener's face and a wash of comments like "That's nice, but what about doing something serious with which you can eke out a career" or "Head in the clouds again? You know that it's a tough field, millions of challengers, and your chances of success are very small."
For many years I allowed myself to be swayed by these opinions and forced myself to settle down, get a "normal" job, and forgo my dreams. I lived this life for quite a few years and was even very successful at it.
But one morning I was lying in bed and I took a look at my life. I had it all: security, friends, food and shelter, and a job where what I did mattered to people. I had it all - so why wasn't I happy? Wasn't this what I'd worked so long to achieve? Wasn't this the life I was told to expect, the life I had strived to create? Wasn't this the promised land?
It then dawned of me that my peers had been right about one thing: I did have my head in the clouds. But I've had my feet firmly embedded in the bedrock of the promised land. What this meant was that I was hopelessly stretched like a man on the rack, and in the same type of agony. I had gained the customary wealth of a bourgeois society, but lost the light from the treasure of my dreams - and only because I had been too afraid to lift my feet from the stability of the ground and allow myself to fly.
I believe that there's nothing wrong with having your head in the clouds. This only becomes a problem if you have yourself deeply entrenched - irrevocably rooted - in the ground. If you want to aspire to more than the mundane, everyday man, you need to be able to uproot yourself and let your feet leave the ground so that you can soar through the sky of the clouds.
There will always be people who will warn you of the dangers of flight. There will always be those who try to keep you grounded. But if your head is "in the clouds" - and you like it there - then be willing to join it up in the stratosphere. Know the dangers but don't be ruled by them. Take a risk. And fly...
But one morning I was lying in bed and I took a look at my life. I had it all: security, friends, food and shelter, and a job where what I did mattered to people. I had it all - so why wasn't I happy? Wasn't this what I'd worked so long to achieve? Wasn't this the life I was told to expect, the life I had strived to create? Wasn't this the promised land?
It then dawned of me that my peers had been right about one thing: I did have my head in the clouds. But I've had my feet firmly embedded in the bedrock of the promised land. What this meant was that I was hopelessly stretched like a man on the rack, and in the same type of agony. I had gained the customary wealth of a bourgeois society, but lost the light from the treasure of my dreams - and only because I had been too afraid to lift my feet from the stability of the ground and allow myself to fly.
I believe that there's nothing wrong with having your head in the clouds. This only becomes a problem if you have yourself deeply entrenched - irrevocably rooted - in the ground. If you want to aspire to more than the mundane, everyday man, you need to be able to uproot yourself and let your feet leave the ground so that you can soar through the sky of the clouds.
There will always be people who will warn you of the dangers of flight. There will always be those who try to keep you grounded. But if your head is "in the clouds" - and you like it there - then be willing to join it up in the stratosphere. Know the dangers but don't be ruled by them. Take a risk. And fly...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
