Tag: Peace

The Vault

The coffee shop – two or three weeks ago, or thereabouts – scribbling away…

Damn. I’ve used this notebook for the one thing I vowed I never would – talking shop. Jotting notes from meetings. In the past, that might have ruined it forever, tainted it to such an extent that I couldn’t use it again. It sounds silly, I know, but it’s always been too easy to feel like I’ve failed in my mission to use it for one purpose and one purpose only. But this time I’m ignoring that, pressing on and using it as a starting point instead. Anything will lend itself to a stream of consciousness if you give it a chance. Besides, as I may or may not have admitted to before, I owe it to Liz to put this book to good use, so that it doesn’t suffer the same fate as so many of its predecessors. And it’s no more useful than it is here, in the coffee shop, accompanying me as I slurp my way through a hot chocolate with plump marshmallows. It gives me precious respite from the screen time that dominates my week. I’ve saved it for precisely this moment, too. It’s approximately 4.30pm, and on a Saturday the place closes at 5pm. When they kick me out, I’ll emerge from warmth and sanctuary into chilly November air – but I’ll still be warmed by the twinkle of those familiar, inspiring lights. I love seeing them framed by steamed-up windows. It makes this feel like the cosiest place on Earth.

Christmas is coming!

Mason

The Bigger Picture

The coffee shop – 7 October 2023. A busy Saturday morning…

One of the first times I can remember ever feeling genuinely proud of myself was in Year 8 at school. I’d just written six paragraphs on the merits of Macbeth. Producing page after page in English class had never been out of the ordinary for me, but this particular piece was all the more remarkable given that it had been entirely untouched by Microsoft Word. In those days, that was a rarity – I didn’t dare stray away from my laptop if I wanted my writing to be legible – but for whatever reason I pressed on that day and it paid off. Why am I mentioning this now? Because this very post you’re reading is also being crafted entirely by hand. And don’t I know it. The muscles in my hand are aching and I have to stop after every line. The pen is slipping and I’m making mistakes all over the page that I have to scribble out. Nevertheless, the more I write, the more satisfied I am. Progress is progress, after all, and with every passing word I’m stronger. In any case, next week my broadband will be switched on and I’ll have access to WordPress again.

Yes, you read that right. Broadband. My broadband, in my new flat – which, at the time of writing, I’ve been living in for just over a week. It’s in Winchester too. Who’d have thought it – an oik from Minehead living there full-time? Dreams do come true, kids! Then again, so do a lot of new responsibilities. Bills to pay every month. Carpets to keep vacuumed. Surfaces to keep clean. At times, I doubt my ability to do all three, but I’ll carry on regardless because I’m focused on the bigger picture. Independence, which I’ve achieved at long last. The pride that comes with every small accomplishment, every little win. Whatever the challenge, I know it’ll be worth it in the end – even if there are aches and pains along the way.

Mason

In The Words Of The T-Shirt…

“…Just Do It.”

That’s what my old GCSE English teacher used to say, usually when we had to write an essay. Given that she had to mark so many of them, she never had much time for people who went “round the houses” – in other words, those of us who took ages to get past the introduction to the crux of the matter. All she wanted was for us to make and explain our point, and to do it promptly. To get the thing tied up and finished. It could still take me a while to hit the nail on the head, and I can remember writing many a long-winded paragraph, but I got there in the end – and that small quote is advice I’d do well to remember today.

As you’ll know by now, I’ve long wanted to be the most versatile writer possible, but I’m invariably held back by the belief that I’ll never write anything worth reading or watching, or that I’m too rusty to take on a specific project (such as scriptwriting, which – Jed Mercurio video lessons aside – I haven’t done since I left Winchester in the summer). I lack a certain amount of confidence, but I also know that I won’t regain it unless I press ahead and write regardless, so sometimes it seems like a somewhat impossible situation. There is, however, a light at the end of this particular tunnel.

My friend Abi works as a photographer down in Cornwall (sometimes she doubts her own ability too, but she really doesn’t need to – as you’ll find out for yourself if you contact her via social media). Her mind is endlessly inventive, and I admire how she always tries to push herself and her business further in colourful and distinctive ways in order to stand out from the crowd. This includes utilising film and the written word as well as imagery, and for her latest endeavour she’s decided to create a video featuring herself and her camera immersed in her beloved Cornish countryside, while she explains her motivations for doing what she does via voiceover. This element of the video needs to be personal, profound and sincere, it needs to delve deep into the effect her environment has on her wellbeing and creativity – and writing such a thing is no mean feat. I should know, because it’s a task she’s entrusted to me.

I’m in two minds about whether or not I should accept it, largely because the lines are meant to convey her own perspective – so surely they should come from her? Nevertheless, I think I will, firstly because I want to help a friend, and secondly because it’s still an opportunity to show someone what I can do, even if it’s not on a massive scale. Abi doesn’t need to use any of what I’ve written once she’s seen it, but it won’t hurt me at all to carry on, even if it is only 500 words, and just do it.

Mason

When I Shut My Door

Until sometime last year, when lockdown meant Dad was undertaking an increasing number of DIY projects out of sheer boredom, my bedroom door did not shut properly. By now, you may be aware that I’m a man who particularly values his privacy – so this was a problem. I wasn’t keen on the idea of anyone barging in whenever they wanted, especially as I’m in my early twenties, so when the lock was finally fixed – and a closed door meant a closed door – it was a big relief. Nobody wants to be greeted by the sight of me in my underpants!

More recently, the lock has meant that I have the space I’ve needed to think more carefully about numerous things. I’m still writing reviews for Music Is To Blame – in fact, my first paid review has just been published – and I also recently finished A Natural History of Dragons (not actually by Lady Trent, but Marie Brennan; Trent is the fictional author who narrates the story). Both have necessitated more scribblings in my notebook, and all of these have been added from the comfort of the armchair in my room. If I tilt my head back far enough, I can rest it on the top as I sit there and recline slightly, waiting for the words I’ve read or the music I’ve heard to dance through my head, working their magic. Thoughts and ideas are much easier to process this way, and silence is much easier to enjoy when I just want a moment to close my eyes and drift off.

This works wonders when it comes to clearing my head, and Lord knows I need headspace at the moment. Primarily, this is because of something new and exciting, which I can’t tell you about just yet, but it’s also because there’s plenty of scope for new ideas right now. When Lara finishes her copy, we’ll have to discuss our latest book, but aside from that I need fresh inspiration for my writing. August was yet another bad month for this blog – perhaps I should have set a target of four posts, like I did in July – but as always, I’m hoping this one will be better thanks to what lies ahead. When it is (and it will be, even if I have to force myself to write more nonsense like this), I’ll know that I have the peace and quiet afforded by a firmly locked door to thank.

Mason