I do my very best to update my blog everyday. 

I'm trying to include as much detail as possible to document my journey to a published novel.



November 2020:


It seems if you listen or even read any self help book or embrace a snippet of wisdom in the form of a Youtube video. Most, if not all of the guidance or call it advice, you could even consider them tips - the secrets of the gods, or put simply and to include a pun; The secret. Ways of living, practices published in bullet point, encapsulated in a magenta slogan, a two-line symbolic journery into metaphorical imagery. Could all these soapy words and phrases be a mere pseudo-science? Call me Ned Flanders because I don't believe in insurance.

 If you choose to watch the 2020 film 'The Secret: Dare to Dream' with Katie Holmes, penned and based on the book by Rhonda Byrne. Well, firstly I wouldn't actually bother. It's almost as tripe as my wildest writing dreams. Watch it, make up your own judgement, ot quickly tear it back down. It's a far cry from anything you might expect and it will not change your life or offer any insight into your own challenges. Use your time more wisely.

Anyway, as I was saying: these self-help books, and other media forms, all mention 'lists': 

"You gotta write shit down!" What is this mysterious and oh so powerful 'list'? I'm asking myself the same question. I've gone through the process, as we all have, of making note of aims and goals. That's all well and Johnny B. Goode, but with that list comes a responsibility. The call to arms, formulation of actual work and the gritty massage of your own creativity. I'm attempting to make a clear list and stick to it. I won't bore you with the intricacies of my own, other than to say and include: bullet pointed, I add parenthetically.


  • Guriella style documentary of a chance meeting with Spike Lee in Brooklyn
  • Write a 70's, trash style horror novel
  • Make that horror novel into a self-produced micro film and post it to youtube, the motivation being that it's seen
So, of my list, these three could be completely far fetched, but now I'm committed to the premise. Along then with the other goals and practices that make up my scrawl to the Universe, I've added independence. No room for a Bill Pullman speech, although if he wanted to get involved in my wood craved monologue. it would probably sound slightly more throaty and delivered in a soft peanut butter accent.
I think its important to plaster and spread yourself across different mediums, keep doing what you're doing. If you wait for that one publisher, that one promised litratary agent or just simply do something because you're told to, playing within the rules....you might get lucky, but I think we all need to get stuff done and stop waiting for others to save us. I want to be all very Michael Parks about life.
I'm in control of this. Stay in control of your own output. Make it with pride and honour your own voice.
Stay in touch with that Malcolm Gladwell premise of 10,000 hours. Put the time in, make it count. Someone will subscribe to it. When I use the word 'subscribe', like so many words they lose all meaning. A subscription is not the mere counting of numbers on youtube, twitter or instagram. It's about the real lives you touch. Make a real change inside yourself and stimulate your chance at living.
Don't forget that Amazon remains a rainforest and Apple is something also beyond a brand. Cut it up into chunks and you've got yourself a mid-afternoon snack.
With that said, continue to do something that makes you happy everyday you're alive. If you have the gift of an 'Outlier', be sure to thank your lucky stars.
No mere mention of Christmas, not just yet.
Until Next Time...




Do Good Things

June 2020:


Unlike The Doors, this book remains open and it is far from the end. I'm not sure about my methods. 
All I know is that I've written what I've written. I could be over critical . I could compare my words to that of others. I won't. 
I began this process back in September 2018. The screen was blank. Microsoft Word, Times New Roman, font size 12  - - Double spaced. I settled on a title. I had it clear in my brain. I already know the story. I've lived it in some way. It's based on fact and actual experience, with the character names I've played. They could be based upon real people or objects of my imagination. Some scenes and maybe others, are exaggerated for dramatic gain. Through the opening lines, that would later become a different chapter. A beginning I found confusing and maybe far too much information. I spread it over several. 
Life happened. New positions in the world of living. Distractions brought on by impatience and bravery. Mother nature played her role and subtle social distortions. The title changed so not to infringe any known and respected organizations. Based on fact, a work of fiction.
Flagpole was then written and that's where we are right now. 

I've written for two years. Some days, every day. Other days the wind would blow or certain obligations would require my full attention. Even with those required responsibilities. I still made time to write for me. The fact that I deeply love what I'm doing is enough encouragement for me to continue. I keep a note of all I've done. Much, I share to anyone who is interested. These words are free and they remain my expression. It feels good to let it out, to have it heard. I feel an increased sense of contentment. 
So, although I've finished this novel. Novel makes it sound slightly pretentious. It is a novel, a collection of words. A pile of ink on paper. They remain my words and I'm itching to dig in and read them. I've been reading them for two years as it is. Really living what I've written. I think it may have corrupted my mind or made me more human. I've invested in these characters and felt what they needed. 
I think I need a rest for a week. When I say rest. I mean rest from this story. I plan to print, which is now complete. I'll list out the titles of my other stories in a OneNote. The stories I'll endeavour to write.
In some, I'll include the songs of artists that will inspire my writing task. I'll create a plot, bullet pointed or numbered, whichever works out fast, easy enough for me to follow. I'll list out the characters, their back story and nuances. Oh, and of course you can't forget the inciting incidents! 
I've got a story that I'll begin. It's shorter and more generic than the last one. I aim for the new story to be based on the genre of horror, inspired by William Peter Blatty's 'The Exorcist', and the works of Clive Barker. I want it to be short, a bit of fun and something to entertain me as I write it. It'll give me a short break from Flagpole until I return to it in a week. Return in the physical form. Hold the pages in my lap, a red pen reading for correction. I may have spell checked it already. But I know I have unanswered questions. I could strike through in red ink an addition, a deletion or anything I feel fit. If it doesn't make sense I'll scribble it out. If it needs explaining then I'll squeeze that in with explanation and established understanding in how it's reading. 
I'm excited to read it. I really am. I can't wait. I should have a break from it, so I can view it with a fresh mind as; if I'm a reader. 
Over 500 pages and One Hundred and ninety five thousand plus pages. I didn't feel the need to get to two hundred thousand. The story ended where it ended. It's not like running on a treadmill for an hour watching The Apprentice until you burn off a thousand calories because nine hundred just instant enough and it hasn't been revealed which teams made the most profit. Sometimes less is more.
The pages are looking up at me from the floor. The title and my name staring back at me. Within me I feel proud. I'm happy. I've created something.
The next updates from this blog will be for my new book.
I've got a title....it's deliberate!
It's called:
'H8tE TrAcK'
Until next time...
Do Good Things


27th February 2020:

It can be hard. It can be so hard. It's never too hard. There should never be an excuse. I do my best not to make any excuses. You know, if a blustery storm blows down your fence. It's a task. It's a chore. It's something that life throws at you. Albeit trivial, it's still an unwelcome distraction from what you might want to be focusing on. Your aim, as is mine.... is to create and write on a daily basis. Yeah. I like you, have a full time job. We each have our own aims, things we want to achieve. It's about prioritising our endeavours.


It was my aim not only to write on a daily basis but also to update this blog in order to effectively provide ongoing documentary of this process. I think, although I've managed to maintain the habit of writing the novel each and every day....notwithstanding storms and foiled boundaries etc. It almost became unrealistic to complete two at the same time. I suppose you make a choice. Either you sit and watch Vikings on Amazon or whatever series is available on Netflix. Don't get me wrong, there's always time for a bit of 'The Staircase' - you do need and deserve your downtime. You never know it may even inspire you along the way in terms of characters, delivery or whatever else you can gleam from acted prose. You might even consider reading the book and gather even more inspiration. Who knows?


Whether it's a blog that one person reads, an instagram account that four people interact with you on or any other social media. Know that it doesn't define you. Be thankful for those that encourage. Remember your endgame. Embrace why you feel the need to have to write everyday. It should be a love. It should be enjoyable. It was either Aristole or Augustine ( I forget who ) that said, when you do something you become it. If you write, you're a writer. I may have completely fluffed that attempt at a quote,  but who cares. You know what I mean and as I said - I can't even remember who said it. Obviously, a lot of effort has gone into fact checking this....


Whatever it is you want to do, don't berate yourself too much. It's not worth it. Just be happy knowing you're enjoying the process and creating something of your own.


I try to photograph my own process and goals in terms of word counts,drafts and notes I'm making.


It's a long journey, but my journey to a published novel will happen. Your aim will be achieved. Just implement your passion.


Until Next Time....


Do Good Things!


January 29th 2020:

On a day to day basis. I think about words. I think about the dictionary definition. I wrangle with the way it'll be heard. I wonder if it's even correct. If only for a second. I imagine its uses. Is that how I would say it? Is that the correct use of punctuation? What does that word even stir in me? What's the origin? What's the synonym? You can wrestle with a thesaurus, you actually can. For the good it'll do you. You may as well fold. It won't like you in any such literally way. Not one little idiliy bit. That book you considered more holy than thou. Look at it weeping. Look it at now.  Instead of worrying about sounding like this one or that one or the other one championed. I'd sound like yourself. After all, it's you writing this stuff down.


So, when I consider and look at my words. The words on a monitor. The words from my head. It's a satisfying feeling and an obsession all the same. My goal isn't to write as many words as I can. Far from the object of the task at hand. I'm merely reading from page one, not counting the lines. I indulge in my written creation and rhymes. Chapter one, edit the meaning. In fact, switched it around. I start from a sequence in the heart of the character. Notwithstanding, it introduces the setting. It's not a secret. It'll be defined. Which in itself becomes a character and therefore it must be introduced earlier. I'm embracing true meaning in the alluded dark message. Writing it seems, becomes more and more fun. I can see the page count increasing and the words doing the same. By going back over from the start of the page. Page 242 of (at the moment) 398. I'm not aiming or working to 400 or even a set total number of words. What appears to be naturally evolving. I suppose evolution is natural in itself. The way in which I read what I've written and realise it needs depth. It needs slightly more of me. My personality. You need to feel me in the page. I don't mean feel the character. I want  you to know that it's me that's written it. The only fear I then may have, is that... I'm trying too hard to be something profound or something I'm not.


All I can say is. It's taking some time. It's time I have to spare and it's time I wish to invest. It helps that I'm enjoying reading it for essentially the millionth time. I guess if you enjoy the story, it stays within you in all times. It's tangible in my mind and I want that on the page. As long as it takes is as long as it'll take. When I know it's right. I'll know. I'm not far off now. The page count isn't growing because the story isn't finished. It's finished. I'm adding in the life. That's what I mean when I say; I want you to feel me. I want to be gripped as the author. Being gripped in a way that you can't control the life and passion you place within the words. Editing this draft. Now the second, is breathing individuality into my writing. I wouldn't go so far as saying 'I've found my voice'. Sometimes, I have no clue what I'm saying, doing or pretending to be. Other days I'm awash with confidence, positivity and direction. It's the persistence I think that is key. It's really helped me focus and I.... at the moment ....can't stop.


It's making me feel proud and pride is not something I feel all the time.

Sometimes we're winners, sometimes we're at work.

Whatever the person you decide to play........ Play it with vigour. Get to know yourself.


Until Next time....


Do Good Things







November 13th 2019:


Well....I haven't finished!


I've finished the story, sure. That though, isn't the end.


In terms of words, I'm at 131,034 - this is already the second draft. Word count remains relatively insignificant to me personally. This keeps on increasing and decreasing, either are fine with me. Much of my time is being taken up with reading, editing and adding in everything that I feel necessary to move it forward.


I haven't been religious in the pursuit of updating this blog because well I'm trying to get the 'work' done. I'm not though referring to this as work. It's enjoyable but I don't  want to be one of those people who 'just talks' about things. Usually, I will admit myself when I say I'm going to do something. I do it. Which I've kept up with thus far in my life.


It's been one hell of a journey so far. I said from the beginning that I hoped to get it completed by September this year. That would then be a year and 'done'. I've dedicated so much time to this and you certainly need to focus on nothing but what you're writing. That in itself is difficult when work and other such distractions surround you. Like trying to complete IT certs, and changing jobs AGAIN. Commuting. Maintaining the enigma. Singing songs that no one will hear. Writing words that will never be read. I keep coming home with notepads. I fill them. One by one. I fill them with words. Words that make no real sense. Just a flood of subconscious.


I often times, consider not writing this or updating it. I no longer have an Instagram account. It was originally my choice. I then attempted to log in and seems it's been removed altogether due to copyright material. I'm not entirely sure what that relates to! All of the material was mine. So, seems odd. I may return one day. Not sure what I got from it to be perfectly honest, it became just another distraction and I myself could feel as if I was becoming ever more vacuous. There's only so much sun drenched perfection, scenes of fake happiness and pretension that I can digest. That's a very sweeping comment, but one I'll stick to for the time being. I'm not one for spying unless it involves voyeurism.


I'm excited to start another one, I make notes on that one too. Should come relatively easy. I have my characters. I have the tone I have the narrative. It's ready but like I keep saying. I can't or won't start that one until this is all done.


Not sure first person on this one - I'll see how it feels.


The only part of me that thought I was alive is the part I search for within you. It's the part that I now know is missing. In life, it seems my indecision has paved the way toward my future. A simplified passenger in all and everything. I continue to hunt. With it brings fear. A concern. What if I have everything that I once thought was real. Reveal a decision, so many would find a surprise. I can continue with hope in my heart. Will hope turn to fiction or will I be the star of my own biopic? The end only known if I choose the conclusion. Act on my impulse. I like the romance in the definitive decision. No one can misinterpret your intentions. You could leave a note with empty pages laced with intricate details of all your offerings, your misgivings and regrets. Then again, choose to disappear to a tree on a hill, decorated only in darkness. Illuminate the leafless branches with the full beams of your headlights. Lay out a record player. Perhaps power it off your car battery. Delicately remove the soundtrack you wish to dance the last experience to. Inform the authorities of your location. By the time they reach, the record will crackle in perpetuity. Never mind, it won't be taken seriously anyway and rightly so.


For each and every day I check. I keep looking. The day I left. You should have come running. You didn't. How unhealthy. I can't help but be completely jealous and I clearly, obviously and evidently have no right at all to be the one to feel it. If I spend too much time considering jealousy, it loses it's purpose. I lose my own. I can't go on like this. I won't.


Can I be saved by irrelevance. Should I be considered in the same breath as ruminative. I only lean with a heavy elbow, supporting a glass of liquor, chiming with melting ice cubes. That I think. I hope supports my creativity. My expulsion of tranquility. For that matter, any words that end abruptly with 'ity'. Shall I not learn to be horrified?


If I playfully imagine my finger upon this glass. It's no longer a glass. I'm closer to you. Albeit through the gin we shared. I can nestle in heavy, my mouth in your neck. With the warmth of my exhalation, you have no choice but to tilt your neck away through panic that we will devour each other. It's our waiting, our nuances that will cause this passion to conflagrate. You can avert your eyes all you wish. I can hold back my kiss. You know this has been inevitable. You know it's our time. With a beat, our foreheads rest upon each others and with the feeling of righteousness. That we owe this to ourselves. We owe it to each other. This moment is yours and mine. I lose myself in you.


I won't make excuses.


This one too, will write itself. Whether you appear within is self evident. This story is yours.


Until Next Time...


Do Good Things!

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