A simple title, for something that has run throughout my life, yet a title I cannot think of anything else. Maybe this will change who knows.
Just recently I have had many a compliment on my writing style, a style that come’s so naturally to me, that I cannot see why people mention it, A style I often read back and think that I can do so much better. The spelling is, I will admit, questionable at times, but I will not fail to admit that often I type, and I let the words flow, and never think to spell check fully. For this I do apologise, as I know it can frustrate when reading something with errors. Yet sometimes minds of those writing don’t wish to reread their words, as this is a escape, once done, will often not be revisited.
This all aside, this is why I do this post today, finally, maybe, a blog with a positive vibe?
So Far From The Bamboo Grove, a semi autobiography of a young girl growing up in the final day’s of WW II, a Japanese family living in North Korea, a story of her struggle to survive .
I first discovered this book at school, when I was just 12 yrs of age, a book in the school library that I just kept getting out every month. A story so far away from my own world, yet one I would read over and over. As I left school, the book left behind, for some reason the title was a struggle to remember, but I never forgot the story. Just recently by fluke, I was able to re find this book, and instantly hit ebay to purchase it. I am currently awaiting for the postman to bring me the follow on story, which I never knew existed.
English language and English Literature, were the only two subjects in my mind, that were worth going to school for. 2 lesson’s I could get lost in, 2 lesson’s I felt natural and able to deal with. Despite the struggle of getting people to believe what I wrote really did come from my mind, heart and soul. I fought through and grew within that world. Reading, studying, and learning the world of the word. Book’s, Poetry, Stories, truth or fiction, I was pulled in, a new world to explore, a new world to learn and understand. A world I could read whilst visiting in my mind, imagination running wild.
I excelled in these subject’s. Studying A Street Car Named Desire, then being able to travel to Bristol to see it live on stage was for me, amazing. Studying Day’s of Thunder and taking the film and it’s script and understanding the in’s and out’s, and the why’s, I lived for these moments.
I dreamed of being some kind of journalist, some kind of writer. I knew it was an impossible dream, as homework was never allowed, learning never encouraged.
Instead music would blast through the house, in the hope of distracting me. Instead it helped calm me, helped me through pain and fear. I learnt to read whilst listening to music, neither distracting the other. Homework became unimportant, school became a struggle I couldn’t bare and chose to walk away from as often as I could. Rarely going back in after lunch, rarely bothering to sit in a lesson, instead choosing to walk out, sit in the library and read.
When I was 15 I was given the chance by my late father to have work experience in Well’s local newspaper, I jumped at this. A chance to spend a few day’s with my father no interruptions, whilst learning how the journalism world worked.
I do think over those few day’s I annoyed my dad, a stubborn excitable teenager, but I loved every second. On the first day getting to know the office, shown how news was found, researched and written. The second day was given a article to proof read and re write, upon doing so, being told my re write was better then the original to the point it went to print, the third day spending it out with the photographer, a 35 mm camera (this was the mid 90’s!) and a school, watching how he worked, listening to his idea’s and what he expected of the final result, to the 4th day being asked what I wanted to learn, resulted in me annoying everyone with so many questions,
The 5th day, I decided not to spend in the office, instead I asked my dad if we could spend a day together, father and daughter, having lunch and seeing Wells, he obliged, a day that I hate because I don’t remember every second, just moment’s, moments of exploring the bookshop, moment’s of laughing as we couldn’t work out what to have for lunch, bickering over blackberry jam…. simple thing’s, that right now I would give anything to be in that moment again!
It was around the time Glastonbury was going on, my father lived just a few short fields away, his small village often filled with the festival goers. One morning, I was able to go to the local b&b for breakfast, little did I know he had arranged this, as the editor and writer and others for Smash Hit’s magazine where staying there. Giving me a chance to speak to two amazing women about their job’s, and their lives. For me, it was a huge chance I will never forget.
Throughout my life, Books have covered my shelves, my home has been filled with music. I will discover one author, one that captures my attention and I will find every other book they have written and read every word, James Herbert a example 24 books I have read of his every one, I soak in his words, imagining a world away from mine.
More recently Eric Brown, Helix, I picked up, not knowing what to expect, yet was drawn in by the twists and mystery, a scfi novel that led me to now own 14 of his novels, and searching more.
My favourite book as an adult Katie Flynn, Angels of Mercy, A story that bring’s me to tear’s every time I start to read it to the point I refuse to read it now.
Books inspire me, stories from other people’s imaginations bring me an escape from a world I simply cannot handle.
I have tried writing before, but having had negativity towards me, I struggled, and gave up more often then I should have done.
This time I won’t allow that to happen, my words are my own, my words are my soul opening up in a world that scares me. I accept now that my life, my path isn’t one that some wish to know of, I understand my path is one of the unknown to many, whilst to others it’s a chance to learn a different life, or it’s one were people can sit and say, she speaks the words many are afraid too.
No two minds are the same, No live’s are simple, no one has it worse then another.
My words flow simply, in the only way I can express myself without fear.
Judgement I now accept,
Hate is part of my journey,
My story is mine, and mine alone,
I ask no judgement, I ask for no hate,
I ask simply to be allowed to use words as an escape,
A chance to allow the pain to flow,
I ask to be allowed to release what is screaming to be let out,
Good, Bad or other.
Life is different for all.
peacefullyerratic.com 