Why I Write for You

I am a writer and I’m going to change your life, and here’s how.

When you read my writing you will feel so gripped by my prose that you’ll feel powerless to resist the urge to dance all night with my words.

Read on to learn how I plan to transform your sweet heart:

  1. I’m going to entertain the very socks off your feet. You’ll be so enthralled by my story that, ten minutes in, you’ll cancel all activities and appointments for the day, settle into your favourite cuddle-spot in the house, take off your socks and curl your mind around my words
  2. I’m going to take you to places you’ve never been before. Thrill as I hold your hand and lead you on a rollercoaster ride through the profound and heady depths of my mind. No-one who has been here has escaped unscathed. You will emerge as a better person – transformed, inspired, satiated
  3. I’m going to journey you into a land where you can become the best that you can be. Not a mere moth fluttering to the flame but a phoenix – roused, rising, to frolic in the far reaches of your joy.

And I’ll do all this because writing (and reading) is the key in the ignition of the vehicle that’ll take you from humdrum to far, far away; into your dreams and then way, way beyond.

You up for the ride?

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Insight of the Day #01

People who type with one finger do not make transposition errros.

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(photo is mine (but not me))

Overheard Conversations #10

“I feel like my body’s eating my body.”

I was walking through the centre of York when I heard this unforgettable line, uttered by a young lad who, one can only assume, was hungry, It was, after all, lunch-time so I hope his mother fed him soon after that. Otherwise – what followed would not make for a pretty picture.

Apology to a Mother

No cows are reading this, unless they live in some dim-and-distant, genetically-enhanced future, and so, inevitably, my forthcoming apology will fall on deaf ears. Nonetheless – I’m sorry for coming between you and your calf.

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The above picture was taken moments before I, foolishly imagining that the road ahead belonged to me, came between a mother and her beloved child. Naturally, she was affronted. Naturally she butted me as I passed her. Naturally I was momentarily startled and entertained thoughts of me running the length of the field with a huge, black, bloody-lusty creature in mad pursuit.

It was only with the exercise of my iron will that I managed to stay myself and call out ‘no! stop!’ in as firm a voice as I could manage under the circumstances.

Thankfully she took pity on me, stopped her charge, and I lived to tell the tale.

All of this has now slipped into the past; indeed it was past as soon as I passed the curve in the road, my back to the herd of cows who were, mostly, quite friendly. Thankfully, there was only one calf among them, otherwise, the outcome of this tale might have been quite different.

As it is, we’re all good.

Meditation Without Rules

Strikes me that meditation should be more about clearing the mind than applying lots of rules to my thinking and the way my body is.

So why am I spending so much energy trying to adhere to a whole set of strictures when I should be just meditating?

I find myself trying to:

  • Relax the body
  • Sit up straight
  • Stay awake
  • Let thoughts go
  • Clear the mind
  • Stay focused.

Surely I’m making some kind of fundamental mistake here!

If what I’m trying to do is clear the mind then why so I have all these rules cluttering it up?!

But if I didn’t have rules, then would I be meditating at all? Or would I just be doing what I always do with my mind: coasting from one moment to the next without getting anywhere?

How do I resolve this, please?

Nothing Rhymes with Robert

I know what you’re going to say – ‘oh no it doesn’t – there’s no way that nothing rhymes with Robert’; am I right?

Yeah, I know I am.

But that’s not what I meant.

Nothing rhymes with several things, like blushing, ducking and sucking, but there are no words, at least in the English language, that rhyme with my name: Robert.

I know this because I was going to write me a little poem this morning; a sweet tribute to myself. The last word of the last line was going to be Robert. But now I can’t.

It’s not that my whole morning is spoilt, don’t worry. I still have the joys of work to look forward to …

hmm

Okay – my whole morning is spoilt.

Life!

Sure on Sand

Sure on SandI see the world as mutable.
Life built on shifting sand.

I’m fine with this actually;
It’s a comforting feeling.

There are hard places
And abrasive times
That I’m insulated from
By this belief in fluidity.