Posts Tagged ‘Fiction’

I live there (this is the link to the post spoken out loud)

You know that place deep down inside you, the place where you hide all your feelings. It’s a dark, cold, hateful place full of sadness and regret. Yes, that place.


I live there.


Been hiding in here for years now, ever since the day I was frightened into concealing how I felt.


Don’t feel bad for me, it’s really not that horrible down here. I mean besides how cold it is. If I longed for anything it would be to feel that warmth again, but I know the only way to attain that is to climb out and my fear is to great to let me do that.


I have friends to keep me company, sure. Sadness, by far the easiest to deal with and least painful. Sadness is always there for me, in fact Sadness never leaves, such a loyal friends. Regret is another good friend. Always pointing out the things I did wrong and helping me understand if I only did things another way I wouldn’t have gotten trapped down here. Sometimes I spend days with Regret analyzing all the mistakes I have made in my life. My least favorite friend is Guilt. Guilt like Sadness is always there but Guilt hurts. Guilt burns at me all day and night. Guilt questions me “Why are you here? No normal person would choose to live here. I hope you feel angst by being down here. You deserve it. You’re not normal, you’re sick and disgusting.” Guilt enjoys lashing at me from all angles, pouring salt in my already weeping wounds. I have to give Guilt credit though, Guilt is always honest, never tells me a lie. Darkness is the only other friend I have down here. Darkness fills in all the other cracks left by Guilt, Sadness and Regret. Darkness wraps me up in its ice cold blanket, shielding me from any warmth that may venture in.


Somedays I think about leaving this place but then Regret swoops in and reminds me of the time I let my feelings out, the day that made me come here and then I decide it would be easier if I just stay. There are days that someone tries to reach their hand in and pull me out but don’t let them. If they knew how it is down here they wouldn’t try to save me. It’s hopeless, I’m hopeless.


You know that place, that dark, cold place inside you, the place where you hide the feelings.


I live there.


Please don’t come and find me it’s not worth it.

I’ve been in denial. As many of you may know I have been writing what I’ve been calling a “story” that I thought may develop into a short story or a novella. I have realized recently that I have been lying to myself about what this story is meant to be. The truth is I have been scared to call it a novel because I didn’t believe I had the right to say I was writing a novel. I have no education in the area of writing besides a University 100 level English so how could I be writing novel?

Today that changed, I had an epiphany, being an artist of any kind does not mean you have to be educated in the area, you have to live it, breath it, believe it. I thought about it and I do live it, I do breath it and thanks to the response I have been getting on the internet and from people closest to me I now believe it! I received some advice from a person on twitter recently, she suggested I start promoting my book now even though it isn’t finished, and my blog is the perfect place to do that, so here goes:

Hi my name is Lindsay, I’m a writer who is writing a novel, it’s called Gray Hayles and it’s an unclassical story of life, love and loss. I’m looking into self publishing and hoping to have it out within the next two years. I won’t rush it though because I know you can’t rush art! If you’re interested, I have 4 excerpts posted under Gray Hayles.

Ahhhh I feel much better now that it’s out in the open. 😉

Peace and Love and Writing

Lindsay 🙂

I have taken break from writing my story Gray Hayles because I have felt a lack of inspiration. Which is weird because this story up until a month ago was dominating my thoughts constantly. Today that break ended. I was reading another persons blog when they suggested taking break from a story is fine but when it is too long it can become toxic. This blog suggested you write words no matter what even if you feel like what you’re saying in your head is not how it is coming out on paper. I took this advice and began to write one of the most poignant parts of this story. Somehow the words came together and I was able to write pages upon pages and when I was done I felt the rush I hadn’t felt in a month. The feeling that this story is still here and I still have the inspiration to write it. So this blog is sending out a big THANK YOU to Today my inspiration came from you and I am grateful for it. I will leave you with a little exert from the pages I wrote today which may be the best I have written so far. I am now more than ever overwhelmed with the excitement of finishing this piece.

There she lay with grey storm clouds in her eyes, staring into my soul. She did not look through me but rather into me, into the depths of my being that I desperately tried to keep hidden but were not safe from her stark gaze.