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[irislantern]

I realised I still have an issue with failure, many people do...but it's leaving me frozen in time and scared to try shit. So I'm trying shit and I'm not striving for perfection just doing it...letting it sit and moving on...which is difficult but life's too short to be frozen

(I followed a GP Like tutorial on YouTube)

[irislantern]

I needed to hear this, I’m sure where it’s going to take me but the words of an artist to another artist feel so real and genuine...and of course Andrew Scott just brought them to life even further.

[irislantern]

“In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself, that is the meaning of inner strength” Uncle Iroh

[thehopefulquotes]

Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light.

— Madeleine L'Engle

[irislantern]

Andrew Scott breathing life into an amazing, colourful and wonderful speech that still holds ressonance today. Choice five, what a hard, difficult and brilliant choice, something we all hope we might choose, have chosen and yet...have we? It's so easy to slip into the easier patterns and there's nothing wrong with that but...what a target to have, a path to take, a trial to run...something not to dream of but to do.

Edith Sampson, what a woman.

[djdangerlove]

“You’re Not a Good Writer.”

I once received a DM comprised of just that sentence. Nothing else. No constructive criticism or any reason as to why this person clearly agreed with my own view of myself.

For someone who has never told anyone in their real life that they write anything, reading something like this from an anonymous user only solidified in my mind the fact that this person was right.

I’m not a good writer.

After an embarrassing amount of minutes passed, in which I thought about deleting every story I ever posted, I decided to delete the message instead. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean I could delete the feelings it caused or change the fact that I’m not a good writer.

Two weeks went by and I didn’t write anything, let alone post. Then I received a comment on a story I had posted three years prior, one I’d written after a death in our family. The comment read, “Thank you for sharing this heartfelt story. I really needed this. I just lost my mom and this really got me today.”

I stopped thinking about being a good writer after that. I thought instead, “what if I had deleted my stories and that one person three years later hadn’t read it that day?”

Here’s what I realized: no one is a good writer.

Good means to be approved of, but stories aren’t created from approval. They’re built from life experiences, feelings, and emotions Therefore, the impact of anyone’s story isn’t good or bad. It’s a million other things.

Heartfelt.

Sad.

Funny.

Inspiring.

Romantic.

So to all the story writers out there, hold your head up, write what is in your heart, and never doubt that there isn’t at least one person out there that needs to read your story.

So, no.

We’re not good writers, but why would we want to be?

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

Holy shit did I need to read this today

[teatops]

Never doubt that there isn’t at least one person out there that needs to read your story.

[irislantern]

Dear lord, yes, everythinng about this, yes

[historical-nonfiction]

“The only way to keep ahead of the procession is to experiment. If you don’t, the other fellow will. When there’s no experimenting there’s no progress. Stop experimenting and you go backward. If anything goes wrong, experiment until you get to the very bottom of the trouble.”

— Thomas Edison, famous American experimenter who created, among other things, the lightbulb and the first motion picture.

[irislantern]

Make all the mistakes and flourish with them for they have beauty in themselves, before even reaching the glory of the final product.

[irislantern]

When you return from getting feedback from a draft. Even though you knew it was shit. 

[irislantern]

Glasscock

He stood there, closet door open, the man in front of him hiding behind a rack of second hand coats unsuccessfully. 

“You lost?” silence, he noticed the priestly dog collar round the mans neck. “Ah, the stripper. Molly’s been waiting for you, excited she is”

“I’m not the stripper”

“But you are Father Glasscock, ripped and...”

“I was booked for a bible study”

His mind raced, he had thought bible study was a code word, I mean the bloke had gone on and on about how exciting it was, songs and dances he used to...he’s a priest. He invited a priest to his sisters birthday party. He heard yells from the party and took a peek through the door. The pizza delivery had came and he could barely hold off the hoard of women as they tried to kiss him and grope him. He hated to imagine what they would do to a “stripper”. He took a sip from the bottle and closed the door. 

“Move over” standing next to the priest he wondered what his life had become. 

“What now?”

“Forgive me Father?”

[irislantern]

Sometimes inspirational quotes get so annoying and above and beyond what appears to be the everyday dredge of life...Like how is your shiny little quote supposed to make me feel better about the broken stuff around me and the bruises from falling over time and time again? But Uncle Iroh has become a sort of mentor. Wise, Badass and not afraid to look a little foolish. 

[irislantern]

A letter to...

Dear You, 

Sitting there with your wild, beautiful eyes pouring over the screen...I wonder about your frequently. The twist of your lips, the arch of your brows, the ways your fingers move when a pinch of anxiety kick in. It’s all so very beautiful, so very human. Yet you shy away, more than once, from that thing that you were given all so long again and all because you don’t think you are worth it. You are. Very much so. For life was not given to you from someone with expectations, but rather someone who is ever so proud and ever so committed to watching over you. Who that person is...well its different for everyone. But the point is that the gift is yours, so don’t be afraid to use it. To feel it, to become it. To eat ice-cream in a small paddling pool fully clothed, learn to play the tuba whilst stripping for an audience of three, drawing on the backs of long lost relatives with straws for hands or even cook a pie. It’s so very easy to be afraid, and I feel it to. But perhaps, just perhaps owning that fear will help you to own your gift. 

[irislantern]

Caught Red...Green Handed

A shadow creeped slowly across the window, inching closer and closer to the lock on the second story window of the local bank. Standing proudly at the centre of town, it was a glorious brick structure that dominated all. The last theft being in 98 when a squad of drunk teenager tackled the sleep deprived guard and got away with ten dollars and fifty cents. They were discovered passed out in the park opposite.

Normally the bank wouldn’t pose such a target, this was a dwindling town of a few hundred. However someone had raked in a large fortune, keeping it within the bank walls for the time being. With three security cameras, three guards and a sharp eyed supervisor, the security of one man’s new fortune didn’t seem too unguarded.

But in broad daylight the spindling shadow was wrapping itself around the lip of the window, arms tangling the hinges and prying an opening. It took time but slowly and surely a gap was being formed, a plan so elite that no one had detected anything. That was until the gardener of seventy years returned from his holiday at that moment. Shears in hand, he looked distastefully at the intruder. 

Damn Ivy, gets everywhere. 

[irislantern]

Welp, here I go

Gosh darn, after looking through the glass window into Tumblr from Pintrest for so long I’m finally here and I’m so lost and omg everything is amazing. Except for the corona virus. Frick that shit. 

And so I never forget Imma listing my goals:

- Write shit 

- Find the post of Gavin screaming

- Avoid licking geology