Wednesday, 28 October 2015

The Virtue of Being a Nobody in a Sea of Somebody's

It's a curious conflict of ego, when you enter a situation and immediately realise you're the least important thing about it.

A year ago it had rendered me awkward, a little desperate even. But - while it may seem laughable to get so deep and philosophical about just an event - there was something remarkably different about this year, and certainly not because I'd become any less of a nobody.

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Becoming A More Dedicated Writer

It's unavoidable and dirty, something we bury deep down to hide even from ourselves - but the truth is, most of the time, watching other people succeed in something you've always dreamed of doing, sucks. 

Sunday, 18 October 2015

The Kindness of One in the City of Strangers

Truly, New York City is home for the strange. I could have never anticipated just how many strangers would end up looking out for me during my time there, and providing me with the most wonderful stories, too. This is the story of perhaps my favourite encounter with a stranger. And it all began with an idea.

About halfway through my trip, I realised a metamorphosis had occurred. I was no longer that same girl who'd stepped out onto the tarmac at JFK wearing - very erroneously - black tights and a jumper. A familiar flower was beginning to unfurl in my chest and lingered on the edge of my every experience. 

There's a book in this, it said.

Thursday, 15 October 2015

Deconstructing Jealousy

It's widely understood that 'comparison is the thief of joy', and nowhere is that more applicable than online. 

Whilst inundated with the dazzling highlights of everyone else's ~amazing~ lives, achievements and successes, we can't help but poke at our own lives with a stick inevitably only to see it wobble lethargically in response. I think we can all agree we've each spent time sunk way down in the solitary confinement of the envy pit before, no matter how hard we've tried to fight it.

Monday, 12 October 2015

The Origins of the name 'Scarphelia'

I was 17 when I began to write her. The story had begun with a memory and ended in tragedy, but it seemed all my stories had to if they were ever to end. She was born out of the love of another. 

He was a gentle and humble soul, but never fragile. He once called me the most volatile person he'd ever known only after his own mother, and I could find neither a positive or negative reaction to give in retort, for in my embarrassment I didn't really know what it meant.

Saturday, 10 October 2015

The Difference Between Following Your Dreams And Pursuing Them

It’s strange, to be able to recall one tiny snippet of the internet with such detail, but about a year ago, I saw a tweet by one of my favourite writers which broke my heart;

‘Bloggers encouraging us all to quit our day jobs and travel the world need to be stopped’

She didn’t know me, but in a case of ‘if the shoe fits…’ it was as good as a personally-directed slam. It stung both because I knew how much she’d dislike my writing, and also because I just could not understand why she’d ever be against what I regarded as positivity.

Sunday, 4 October 2015

A Simple Birthday Wishlist

The above photo absolutely fills me with joy, because it is a collection of all of the handwritten letters I have received since I started pouring my brain into the internet.

And just like ebooks and kindles will never truly compare to the sensation of holding a real physical book in my hands, although I'm forever grateful for the internet correspondence I am lucky enough to receive, the sheer magic of receiving post in varying handwritten styles bursting with personality and character, upon an array of papers and envelopes, emblazoned with the unique stamps of the word, is comparable to none.

Thursday, 1 October 2015

Analogue October

Lately I've pretty much gone insane. Ironically the only thing that stops me succumbing to pure insanity is the recognition and acknowledgment of my own madness. Being purposeless has left me empty, and technology has catalysed that emptiness into something a lot darker. I've slipped. But I'm not here to preach the woes of our internet addiction. I'm too tired. Preaching about my vulnerabilities are the only thing that makes them real.

I'm here with what I hope is a solution. 'Blogging' doesn't make me happy any more. But writing always will. So I'm going to write. And it would be really nice if you'd write to me too. There is no theme, these are not submissions, I just need a little rehab, and it would be the most wonderful thing to keep your company in doing so. Let's be penpals. Tell me about yourself, about your life, tell me a story, the best conversation you ever had, the first time you ever cried over a lover. I'd love to hear from you, and I'll write you back too if you enclose a return address.

I always wanted to try and bring something new to the internet, but now I'm starting to come to terms with the fact that technology is at peak saturation. There's so little left that can be done with the tools we have, and any new tools that grow, remove a part of our humanity to exist. So maybe the only solution is time to bring something old back. Restore a bit of our souls. Plus my birthday is on the 7th October and life is too hectic to do anything for it, so it would be lovely to receive a little story or two through the post.

I'd like to post these letters on my blog but without names, addresses or context, just a collection of photographs, if you wouldn't mind. I don't even want to promote these posts, or try and garner attention. I just want to bring my blog back to what it always was. A little place for me to collect the thoughts and things that make me happiest. 

All my love always.