been away a day or two

so where do i begin? after near on a month how have i done?

okay. really!

got loads of great photography done. made loads of new friends.

been working on taking apart a Furby and other electronic related geekery.

read and written a lot of really great stuff.

currently working on 101 things to do before i die. also 101 things to do in the next few years.

i find that i’ve got so many opportunities opening up for me. my parents have bought a boat that i can sail away on. loads more things. things, things, things. (even the option of following my dad on his business trips to European cities – he’ll work, i’ll take photos and drink coffee)

i’m really really happy, even without working (because i’m not spending a lot)

just being positive that there is life after a life lost. been a bit regretful – but then, when aren’t i?

anyway.

more will follow as i detail more about my movings.

as ever. follow me on twitter. @jensenwilder

Filed under: Bath, Day-to-day, Depression, Existence, Family, Friends, Home, Nightingale, Poetry, Travel, about me, books, compass, hopes, job, prose, writing the novel , 101 things, boat, electronics, follow, Furby, Happy, life, photography, positive, twitter

deadlines

I haven’t blogged in so long and it is beginning to effect my mood. I’m sitting here working on the first chapter of another new novel – only this one is my deadline novel that must be written by August 1st.

I’ve chosen the deadline because it gives me a focus – it isn’t even that good a story, but I think you kinda have to chose a shit idea for your first novel and do as well as you can just writing the damn thing.

Another step to becoming a writer.

So now, glass of red wine in one hand and the other typing slowly these very words you are reading. I’m getting back to the plan of getting better. Working out which direction I want to head in.

There will be more, but until then I’ll leave you with the idea for my novel.

-=- (Subject to change at any moment)

‘The Travels of Amos Wright: A Man Washed To Sea As A Boy’ is told from the third person perspective. It charts the life of Amos Wright, a man born in the coastal town of Cornhill. Deciding that he has no excuse left as to why he cannot leave the place he has come to hate – Amos sets out.

After many, many contemplative trains of thought and a bottle of rum, Amos decides to leave. In a moment of madness – that one can only reach once one is drunk out of one’s mind – he steals a rowboat and rows out into the bay and away.

Waking in a boat without oars and with only a thumping headache for company, Amos realizes that his life will now drift on, largely out of his control.

It is a novel that holds no value of any kind, is free to be its obscure and surreal self, to be read only by those who are recovering from depression. The overall message is not a secret. Sometimes breathing is all you need to do to be worthy of the life you have.

Filed under: Depression, Drinking, Future, anxiety, compass, news, novel, prose, the novel, writing, writing the novel

better off in bed

 

‘Then again’ has got nothing on me. My every waking moment is a sermon on any mount you can count.

 

 

I’m not sure where to start today, tonight, this morning… it has been, and is, all these things.

 

 

I’m lying in bed with two towering bookshelves to my left. Scores of books, some read – most just flipped through. All those words, all that information and, though I hunger for it, I can never seem to find the energy to begin any real campaign – no winning this war of attrition, there will always be backup coming from somewhere; always a cavalry of classics lined against the lip of the sky.

 

 

Nest Chick is out with her Cuckoo Tweeter and so I’m a pidgin shy of all alone. Beak-to-beaking-it together and I don’t get a look in – she and she got no me, no me at all – one wonders how they cope; yet cope they do.

 

 

No one else is awake these days, I seem to find them sleepwalking through life and I quickly get sucked into that mentality. Follow suit in the very outfit myself. Tonight I found myself stupefied and so had to evacuate the house party before my brain oozed out of my ears and my heart sank like a shipwreck. Compass set to sheets and a shower, I got home in quick pace – then all I needed was a spot of sleep… or the spiders to leave… whatever. I made a cup of tea and waited up for Nest Chick. Snuggled down under downy sheets.

 

 

Tie-dyed was the style of my first bed-sheets, second hand at the point where they reached me, and I loved them. For all the non-dye stains, for missing buttons and its cheesecloth hem – all raggedy ends – for all those things I loved it. I knew early on that it mirrored my view of myself, that even now I want someone simply to love me as foolishly as I loved those bed-sheets. For all faults can be found endearing. Most blemishes the results of a life lived, rather than a life kept in an airing cupboard.

 

 

Now I wish I had those damned sheets, but mostly I miss the pillow. The was worn in the middle and the fabric had bobbled slightly. It wasn’t rough on the face, but soothing when it warmed to my temperature. I’d get to sleep with my head nodding. Rubbing my cheek against the soft-rough surface. It was heaven. It was comfort. Now I wish I had that damned pillow because I need some easy comfort. Hard to find nowadays, where most things flash and blink but are none-too-good against the cheek.

 

 

I liked things the way they were a good few hours back, when we were easy in each other’s presence. Perhaps I should have stayed, simply sat there in silence?

 

No, I think I’m better off in bed, with or without the pillow.

 

 

Filed under: Sad, about me, bed, books, childhood, compass, mount, nights out, pillow, sermon, sleep, solitary