Weekly Writing Prompt: Which is your Favourite?

This is an interesting idea for a link up. Which is my favourite piece of writing so far? Not such an easy question to answer, to be honest. 

I have written little bursts of three different novel ideas here on Written by Sarah: Murphy's Mysterious Mysteries(a children's novel); Life and Lemons; and Snapshots of Sophie.

I have also included writing prompts from a couple of different places. I think this post below (first published on Friday 20th July) is my favourite at the moment:

This writing prompt comes from Jeff Goins’site.

I’m not totally convinced that this is a story I am unwilling to share. It is certainly an uncomfortable story and one which makes me look back on one of the most difficult times I have faced in my life so far. But am I unwilling to share it? Probably not. I am open about that episode in my life. The way I see it, if even one person who reads this account of my illness is even remotely helped, supported or encouraged because of that, then it is worthwhile being open about it.

In the winter of 2007 I was struck down and almost entirely bowled over by depression. Looking back, I now realise that this was something that had been creeping up on me slowly but surely over a long period of time. At the time though, it hit me like a freight train. It came shooting at me out of the blue and rocked my world to it’s very core.

Here’s the background to how it all began: I was doing really well at work. My job as a teacher was stressful (of course) but I had been promoted twice and had settled into my school quite well. I played for a local band and had a full social life. In fact, I had been playing for three different bands in the area. And working in a language school during the summer holidays. And attending a book club. And attending weekly belly dance classes. And following a very strict (and for me ultimately) fateful diet plan.

I had lost more than two stone on the diet. I looked at my best ever. As I mentioned there was a lot going on in my life at that time. Looking back, I think that was the problem.

Slowly, bit by bit, I started to withdraw from social activities one by one. Not all at once, but gradually. The big band rehearsals and concerts went first, followed by the military band and then finally my beloved brass band. The book club was taken over by another person and became something a little less than it had been, so that had to go. And the belly dance class went last. I had no energy for it.

Slowly but surely, the only constant thing in my life became my job. I told myself I had to do this, as the other things were taking up too much time. My banding was taking over my life – I didn’t want that.

There were other things happening at the time too. Some messy and painful relationship stuff had knocked my confidence. All in all, I was a vulnerable person who was shutting herself off from the world.

I started to have issues at work. I was ill a lot of the time. Colds, flus, bugs – you name it, I had it. Never anything serious (so therefore management took a dim view of each and every absence) but the absences became more and more frequent.

I was on my final warning about absences when I woke up and didn’t want to go in. There were not physical symptoms I could hide behind this time though. I didn’t have a cold or a headache. Or a tummy bug. I just didn’t want to go in. I couldn’t face it. It was then that I realised that I didn’t really want to live any more either.

I sat with that shocking thought for a moment and began to cry. I cried hard. I could not understand what had happened to me, or where this thought had come from. I had a good life with a well paid job. I had just bought my own flat in a lovely seaside town. Why then did I suddenly want to die?

I phoned work and left a message, then immediately booked in to see the doctor. Something was clearly wrong with me. I didn’t honestly know what that something might be, but I knew something was wrong. I told my tale to the doctor, again bursting into tears and he knew the answer – he knew what was wrong in an instant. I was suffering from depression.

The relief that he understood – that there was a word for this genuine despair and that it was indeed a genuine medial condition was palpable. It made such a difference to me. The doctor immediately sorted out some medication and counselling for me. I had a plan and a way forward.

It wasn’t an overnight success though, this plan. I tried and failed to return to work. I tried and failed twice. I thought I had gotten over everything. I hadn’t. In fact it took three separate counsellors to get me back on track. With each successive counsellor I was able to delve deeper and deeper into my feelings, into the possible causes of these feelings of worthlessness. But back on track I got. Eventually.

What do I take away from this experience? That I am not invincible, and nor should I be. I am human, I am flawed and I deserve the same level of respect and understanding that I would give to anyone else in their time of need.

I do know this also: I am a better person for having survived this episode and come through to the other side.

If I could relive any day of my life…..

This is the thought-provoking writing prompt for this week. Hmm….

I must admit, I struggled with this question when it first came up as part of the Me,Myself and I linkup I took part in over on A Cat-Like Curiosity. 

What day could I relive? Have I had any days which were so wonderful that I would itch to go back there, relive them all over again?

My mind goes blank at the very thought. 

I suppose the other option is to look for a day where something had gone wrong and see whether I would want to go back and do things better this time.

Again, my mind goes blank at the very thought.

I consulted with MHI (My Handsome Irishman). I was met with a whole bunch of whistling sounds and hedging and a promise to get back to me.

This question is really hard.

So, I thought and I thought. A long process and a worrying one, at least initially. Why couldn't I think of any days that were so awesome that I wanted to relive them? Was that a bad thing? Is it sad that I am happy with the happy times - getting to hold my god-daughter for the first time, passing my driving test, buying my first flat by myself. I don't feel I need to relive them. They were good and great but now I am looking towards the next good things. Living in the now and looking to the future. Is that a bad thing?

It's interesting to me that my initial reaction was that there was something wrong - I couldn't think of any days I wanted to repeat and therefore that was bad. That meant I hadn't had any good enough days in my life to want to repeat them. I hadn't had any good enough times. It was only when I really thought about that I realised: this is in fact a good thing. This means I enjoyed the good times enough at the time of having them. And now I'm happy to look forward to the good times ahead.

As for days I'd like to relive and do over differently I guess I have too many of them really. Too many to count and too many to contemplate. From things as small as redoing a conversation and saying the right thing to completing changing my actions and therefore my outcome. I don't feel I want to dwell on those. I have done so in the past and I don't think it's a very healthy thing to do.

So, a little cheat on my part. I reframed the question to the following:

What days are you looking forward to living and why?

And here's what I was able to come up with:

1. Moving into and making a home of our new house. I can't wait to start that whole process again in a much more thriving community than the one we're living in just now.

2. Seeing my writing published, in whichever guise that may come. When that day comes I just know I will feel so happy and fulfilled.

3. Making a real tangible success of my Lifestyle Blog and my store. This day is getting closer and closer, I can feel it.

A much more fulfilling exercise for me and one which didn't rely on looking at the past through rose-tinted or overly critical spectacles.

Which days are you looking forward to in your future?

A Challenge: Share a story you don’t want to tell

This writing prompt comes from Jeff Goins’ site. 

I’m not totally convinced that this is a story I am unwilling to share. It is certainly an uncomfortable story and one which makes me look back on one of the most difficult times I have faced in my life so far. But am I unwilling to share it? Probably not. I am open about that episode in my life. The way I see it, if even one person who reads this account of my illness is even remotely helped, supported or encouraged because of that, then it is worthwhile being open about it.

In the winter of 2007 I was struck down and almost entirely bowled over by depression. Looking back, I now realise that this was something that had been creeping up on me slowly but surely over a long period of time. At the time though, it hit me like a freight train. It came shooting at me out of the blue and rocked my world to it’s very core.

Here’s the background to how it all began: I was doing really well at work. My job as a teacher was stressful (of course) but I had been promoted twice and had settled into my school quite well. I played for a local band and had a full social life. In fact, I had been playing for three different bands in the area. And working in a language school during the summer holidays. And attending a book club. And attending weekly belly dance classes. And following a very strict (and for me ultimately) fateful diet plan.

I had lost more than two stone on the diet. I looked at my best ever. As I mentioned there was a lot going on in my life at that time. Looking back, I think that was the problem.

Slowly, bit by bit, I started to withdraw from social activities one by one. Not all at once, but gradually. The big band rehearsals and concerts went first, followed by the military band and then finally my beloved brass band. The book club was taken over by another person and became something a little less than it had been, so that had to go. And the belly dance class went last. I had no energy for it.

Slowly but surely, the only constant thing in my life became my job. I told myself I had to do this, as the other things were taking up too much time. My banding was taking over my life – I didn’t want that.

There were other things happening at the time too. Some messy and painful relationship stuff had knocked my confidence. All in all, I was a vulnerable person who was shutting herself off from the world.

I started to have issues at work. I was ill a lot of the time. Colds, flus, bugs – you name it, I had it. Never anything serious (so therefore management took a dim view of each and every absence) but the absences became more and more frequent.

I was on my final warning about absences when I woke up and didn’t want to go in. There were not physical symptoms I could hide behind this time though. I didn’t have a cold or a headache. Or a tummy bug. I just didn’t want to go in. I couldn’t face it. It was then that I realised that I didn’t really want to live any more either.

I sat with that shocking thought for a moment and began to cry. I cried hard. I could not understand what had happened to me, or where this thought had come from. I had a good life with a well paid job. I had just bought my own flat in a lovely seaside town. Why then did I suddenly want to die?

I phoned work and left a message, then immediately booked in to see the doctor. Something was clearly wrong with me. I didn’t honestly know what that something might be, but I knew something was wrong. I told my tale to the doctor, again bursting into tears and he knew the answer – he knew what was wrong in an instant. I was suffering from depression.

The relief that he understood – that there was a word for this genuine despair and that it was indeed a genuine medial condition was palpable. It made such a difference to me. The doctor immediately sorted out some medication and counselling for me. I had a plan and a way forward.

It wasn’t an overnight success though, this plan. I tried and failed to return to work. I tried and failed twice. I thought I had gotten over everything. I hadn’t. In fact it took three separate counsellors to get me back on track. With each successive counsellor I was able to delve deeper and deeper into my feelings, into the possible causes of these feelings of worthlessness. But back on track I got. Eventually.

What do I take away from this experience? That I am not invincible, and nor should I be. I am human, I am flawed and I deserve the same level of respect and understanding that I would give to anyone else in their time of need.

I do know this also: I am a better person for having survived this episode and come through to the other side.

Am I a writer?

I am very happy to have found a writing prompt to linkup to each week. It will help to keep me focused on my writing and just give me something outside of my two major writing projects to think about and to write about.

Snapshots of Sophie is still an ongoing project for me. I started it as part of NaNoWriMo, and although I didn’t even come close to finishing it during the month of November, I am still working towards my goal of completion. It is coming towards it’s the end now (at time of writing it stands at 35,000 words). It is still in its first draft form though. Then will come the task of reading and re-writing. I am not (I confess) totally sure of how best to approach this. Part of me would love to print it out physically and scribble all over it. Treat it and read it as a real book and annotate my way through it. This would take up a huge amount of paper and ink though. It would probably be expensive. It might be the most effective way of reading it though - as a book rather than a word document if that makes sense? Any words of wisdom you may have about this drafting process would be gratefully received.

I am also considering going straight into my next project before re-writing Snapshots. I wondered if that would give me a fresh perspective on it and free me up to be much more objective than I would be if I re-read it immediately after writing it. Again, any words of wisdom from you wonderful writers out there would be very much appreciated.

My newest project idea is very much in its infancy. I haven’t even begun to write it at all yet. I have started the research for it though. It was such a sudden, rushing and all-encompassing emotion that accompanied this idea that I simply had to take some time to find some articles and jot down some ideas into a word document ready for me to turn my full attention to it as soon as I can. I am being a little vague and avoiding telling you the nitty gritty of this idea. I am being very evasive.  This is on purpose, sorry. I simply couldn’t bear to have this idea stolen from me. It has become my new baby already.

So, perhaps I won’t post too much of my writing for this particular project here on my writing blog. Perhaps I’ll keep it to myself for a while. Just until I am more sure, more certain about it. Until I am feeling OK about letting out little bits and pieces of the details.

So, the question at the top of this post. That is what I am trying to answer in my long, rambling sort of way.  It’s this one: Am I a Writer?

I would say that I definitely am. I have one book nearing completion and another germ of a book idea on the way for when this one is finished. I enjoy the process of writing. I enjoy reading about writing.

Being a writer means so much to me. Finally being in a place in my life and in my head where I can make time to write and to do so regularly is amazing. This is something I have been reaching towards for many years.

I average around 4,000 words per week on whichever project I am working on. I also manage to keep up with a full time job, a lifestyle blog, an Etsy store and, most importantly, a life of my own. I find myself getting lost in words often. I can be literally away in my own little world and need to be drawn back into my real life and towards my real life companions.

The screensaver on my Android Tablet looks like this:

I am a writer, an artist and woman who is rich with gifts and blessed by a fruitful and fulfilling life.

That is my answer to the question above this post: I am a writer.