#unconfidence

[scaarxface]

Wenn man nicht bereit ist etwas zu fühlen kann einem der Tod wie ein Traum erscheinen.

[clickingkeys-blog]

Writing for Money

Writing for money is an odd thing. It’s almost a certainty that you would want to get paid for your own creative work that you spent so long cultivating. In all my years, I’ve realised that the tremendously hard work of the written word is the first step to becoming a successful author.

I say this as someone who isn’t sucessful at all. Without the bullshit; trying to prop oneself up with a pretentious stick up the arse and prove you are something - you can finally talk clearly. In the prose of most writers that I’ve ever seen, the words don’t come from character but from their own unconfidence. I do the same. It’s learning to conquer ones emotions that you can write something good. 

Writing for money is a structured event. A brief that requires many specifics and an Editor that might be impossibly hard to appease. You have to write in a prose that isn’t your own, a third-person act where you’re pulling your own strings. It’s not interesting.

But there’s the writing for money that’s a fantasy and dream for most, if not all but the extremely lucky few. Being able to write literature that speaks to the mind and soul and makes money too. There’s the storytypes and the tropes of characters and writing, but at the end of the day, we all love to read good characters getting into bad situations.

[revesperminute]

chris boardman / ned boulting / guy martin

Proper Hands

I dreamt I was at some sort of posh do - an opening, or maybe a race - and everyone was dolled up to the nines.  Footballer’s wives level of satin, towering heels, big hair, make-up and nail varnish.  I walk in feeling unconfident in my best level of dressed-up-ness: no make-up, flat shoes, my only skirt.  I look like I’ve wandered in by mistake.  Outbreak of wobbly legs and fluttering heart on discovering the meeter and greeter/usher for the event is a male amalgam of Chris Boardman, Ned Boulting and Guy Martin.  He reaches out and shakes my hand, which is typically (and entirely true to reality) unmanicured, rough, and with oil from fixing bikes ground into the cracks.  Then, in a 100% Guy Martin voice, he looks at my hands as says appreciatively ‘Ooh, them’s proper hands, not like these other women here’, and gives a disparaging glance to the rest of the room in their finery.  All self consciousness and lack of confidence is gone in an instant and my heart is warmed and soaring by this uber male hero character selecting me, the ugly duckling, as being noteworthy out of the room full of peacocks.  Best seats, special treatment and VIP access are promised.  The doors to the event start to open.  I wake up, never finding out what the event was, but with a lovely warm feeling that my hands are not a source of shame, but of pride.  They’re proper.

[breakthepattern-sb]

[dreams-fucker]

[micheewrote]

If you never get the courage to step forward.. You'll always stay in the back row!