Hi everyone,
Hope you had a great weekend. The Internet is an amazing tool. To be able to share my thoughts with people I have never met face-to-face, from all parts of the globe is truly a gift. It also allows me to see what others are writing and thinking out there, and I am thankful for that because I have come across some real gems. Firstly thanks to Shannon for the link. It was so great to get another persons perspective on mental health and happiness, and it will help me in my writing - the more knowledge you have the better your frame of reference, which all leads to better writing.
I have realised that most of this blog has been one-way traffic, the nature of blogging I guess. But I just want to share a poem that I came across as part of my research. I find it astoundingly beautiful and insightful, I have asked the author for permission to put it on my blog and she has graciously said yes. When I read it, I think of a young Captain Angus.
If anyone has anything they would like to share with me on the nature of love and happiness which inspires or causes us to think, feel free to pass it on. So without further ado, here is the poem
To a Soulmate - By Zephyr
If I tell you my story and explain who I am, would you listen and love me as me?
If I paint you a picture to explain how I feel,
would you open your eyes to see?
If I sang you a song about what makes me laugh,
would you hum to the tune everyday?
If I wrote you a poem about what makes me sad,
would you kiss all my sadness away?
******
If you ever felt down when you were alone,
if your face was missing its smile,
If a voice in your head, told you what id have said,
would that sad moment to you be worthwhile?
If I waited till you were asleep late at night to whisper my feelings for you,
Would those words stay stored so deep in your heart that no other words could get through?
******
Do you know how complete you could make me feel,
just by saying you understand?
When these thoughts in my head don’t make any sense,
but you’ll still reach out and take my hand.
Or In a crowded room as you catch my eye,
at that moment my heart skips a beat,
Would you turn round to see,
no-one else there but me... and feel that your life was complete?
******
What if one night I was miles away,
blank expression, away in a dream…
Would you wonder what I was thinking about and play out your own little scene?
Do you miss that feeling when you’re so full of hope,
looking forward to what lies ahead?
Do you miss lazy Sunday mornings, just cuddling up in bed?
******
There are wonderful places I’ve seen in my dreams,
where the stars are like jewels in the skies Faraway places that exist just for me,
that I’ll see when I look in your eyes.
Will you be thankful for all that we get to share,
the giggles, tears, smiles and laughs?
And when we’re apart and miss each other,
the late night texts and photographs?
******
There’s a saying which states that when we are born,
our hearts are divided in two,
One half goes to your soul mate,
and the other half stays with you.
We spend our lives searching till one day we meet,
so our hearts can then reunite,
So keep searching for me,
as I will for you,
so we can find our wings and take flight.
To see more of Zephyr's work - go to http://www.writers-network.com/index.cgi?m=1&view=48423
Monday, May 26, 2008
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Mental health
Hi to everyone reading this blog.
One of the main themes that forms the bones of my new work is mental health. I have spent a lot of time with Raymond this week and writing the chapter that describes his mental breakdown was very taxing for me to say the least. I had to go to places in my mind that I have not been to for a while, to do the writing justice. I don't know if I would ever attempt to write a chapter like that if I had never been there myself to some degree.
I have thought much on this theme of mental health over the years and had previously attempted writing about it, but my characters and voice were immature and so were my technical capabilities as a writer. But more than anything, I had not met and spoken to enough people to get a broad enough landscape in my mind to write with sincerity on the topic.
Mental health issues are reaching epidemic proportions in Australia, and though I cannot vouch for the rest of the world, everything I hear seems to suggest that this is also the case in most of the developed nations - maybe there is something in that. Westernised society of fast-paced-big-city lifestyles may be having a negative impact on our mental health; developing nations, on the other hand, may have too many other epidemics to worry about - like famine, disease and war -for mental health issues like stress and anxiety to be major issues. Hmmm...this may be naive and too simplistic a view. Anyway, I am no expert on developing countries but have lived in developed countries most of my life, so I'll stick to what I am familiar with.
In Australia, there seems to be a growing number of people in the mid-to-late 20's to around 40 that are experiencing a feeling of being lost and unfulfilled. Maybe the mid-life crisis has shifted forward 10 years to reflect our faster pace of life. I am not talking about those who have medically diagnosed mental health problems like depression, bi-polar and anxiety related disorders, for which they are taking medication or undergoing cognitive therapies. My interest is in those men and women with no history of mental health issues in their family, no predisposition to mental health issues through abuse of alcohol or drugs. I am specifically interested in men and women who have been well adjusted and relatively happy with their lot until all of a sudden, seemingly out of the blue (or so it seems to the sufferer) they experience panic or anxiety attacks, feelings of melancholy and isolation and a feeling of being lost.
In my experience and talking to many others, there are nearly always underlying issues that may have been suppressed that come to the fore and trigger all the feelings mentioned above. I am sure this will also be the case for Raymond Figg. It's the triggers that intrigue me, what are they, and are there more of them in the modern world? Did communities of the past experience as many mental health challenges and if not why not? Maybe we have too much time on our hands to think, maybe the modern world allows us to be selfish; a world where we can exist by ourselves without depending on others for food, shelter and entertainment. We no longer need love or community to exist but at what cost?
As I learn more about Raymond, I learn that he has, even without knowing it himself, started a process of isolation long before his breakdown. Isolating his feelings, his emotions, isolating himself in front of the computer, the TV, in his work. We can have people around us and still be isolated and it is becoming clear to me that this is the case for Raymond.
Isolation is just one of the triggers for unhappiness, at least for Raymond, but there are many more: lost dreams, crappy job, everyday like the last, no adventure, no magic, broken heart, lost love, grief and so on. I wonder if I have missed any. Raymond is not dying, he is not physically ill, he has food, shelter, income and love if he wants it - but - he is desperately lost and unhappy. I wonder how many 'Raymond Figg's' are out there? I wonder.
joe
One of the main themes that forms the bones of my new work is mental health. I have spent a lot of time with Raymond this week and writing the chapter that describes his mental breakdown was very taxing for me to say the least. I had to go to places in my mind that I have not been to for a while, to do the writing justice. I don't know if I would ever attempt to write a chapter like that if I had never been there myself to some degree.
I have thought much on this theme of mental health over the years and had previously attempted writing about it, but my characters and voice were immature and so were my technical capabilities as a writer. But more than anything, I had not met and spoken to enough people to get a broad enough landscape in my mind to write with sincerity on the topic.
Mental health issues are reaching epidemic proportions in Australia, and though I cannot vouch for the rest of the world, everything I hear seems to suggest that this is also the case in most of the developed nations - maybe there is something in that. Westernised society of fast-paced-big-city lifestyles may be having a negative impact on our mental health; developing nations, on the other hand, may have too many other epidemics to worry about - like famine, disease and war -for mental health issues like stress and anxiety to be major issues. Hmmm...this may be naive and too simplistic a view. Anyway, I am no expert on developing countries but have lived in developed countries most of my life, so I'll stick to what I am familiar with.
In Australia, there seems to be a growing number of people in the mid-to-late 20's to around 40 that are experiencing a feeling of being lost and unfulfilled. Maybe the mid-life crisis has shifted forward 10 years to reflect our faster pace of life. I am not talking about those who have medically diagnosed mental health problems like depression, bi-polar and anxiety related disorders, for which they are taking medication or undergoing cognitive therapies. My interest is in those men and women with no history of mental health issues in their family, no predisposition to mental health issues through abuse of alcohol or drugs. I am specifically interested in men and women who have been well adjusted and relatively happy with their lot until all of a sudden, seemingly out of the blue (or so it seems to the sufferer) they experience panic or anxiety attacks, feelings of melancholy and isolation and a feeling of being lost.
In my experience and talking to many others, there are nearly always underlying issues that may have been suppressed that come to the fore and trigger all the feelings mentioned above. I am sure this will also be the case for Raymond Figg. It's the triggers that intrigue me, what are they, and are there more of them in the modern world? Did communities of the past experience as many mental health challenges and if not why not? Maybe we have too much time on our hands to think, maybe the modern world allows us to be selfish; a world where we can exist by ourselves without depending on others for food, shelter and entertainment. We no longer need love or community to exist but at what cost?
As I learn more about Raymond, I learn that he has, even without knowing it himself, started a process of isolation long before his breakdown. Isolating his feelings, his emotions, isolating himself in front of the computer, the TV, in his work. We can have people around us and still be isolated and it is becoming clear to me that this is the case for Raymond.
Isolation is just one of the triggers for unhappiness, at least for Raymond, but there are many more: lost dreams, crappy job, everyday like the last, no adventure, no magic, broken heart, lost love, grief and so on. I wonder if I have missed any. Raymond is not dying, he is not physically ill, he has food, shelter, income and love if he wants it - but - he is desperately lost and unhappy. I wonder how many 'Raymond Figg's' are out there? I wonder.
joe
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Prologue - The captain and his mate
Hi everyone,
so here it is, the first chapter/Prologue/Introduction, let me know what you think.
The captain and his mate
It was a balmy summer’s eve and Raymond Figg sat on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the side, staring at his kneecaps, deep in thought. The very same pier he used to visit with his dad when he was just a boy; the very same spot where he and his dad had spent many an afternoon watching the boats hoist their sails as they made their way out to sea. One day we will have our own boat, Raymond’s dad used to say, you and me, son, the captain and his mate.
Raymond allowed a smile to escape his lips as he remembered those afternoons; they seemed so long ago now, like they belonged to someone else. They dreamed big dreams on that pier, Raymond and his dad. The world, it had seemed, was a place full of magic where anything was possible: a world where Raymond had felt 10 feet tall. No matter where or what you are in life, his father would say, the only things you need are dreams, faith and a kind heart and you will do great things, my beautiful son.
Raymond could feel a lump begin to form in his throat. He lifted his head and scanned the marina looking for the boat that his dad had loved so much, an old fashioned thing that looked like a mini-pirate boat. We’ll buy one just like that one, son, his dad used to say, can you draw it for me? We’ll need the drawings when we build it. But Raymond could not see the boat, not that he expected to, so much had changed since he was a boy.
A lone seagull landed next to Raymond on the pier. They never did get to build the boat of their dreams, he and his dad. As Raymond approached his 9th birthday, the visits to the pier became more and more infrequent. And when they did visit, his dad spent a lot of time just staring at nothing. If he did speak, he would repeat the same words over and over, Raymond, he would say, promise me something, remember how I told you to have faith, have faith in this, if ever your mind is troubled then come sit by the sea, you may not be able to see me, but I will always be here and you can talk to me. And I promise I will be listening.
The lump in Raymond’s throat had turned into a ball, his eyes began to moisten and his chest felt as though it was held firm in a tight clamp. He had not cried since he was 9 years old and he fought it. Coming to the pier was not such a good idea. Everything he’d read told him he must confront the past if he was to heal and grow, but all could feel as he sat on that pier was pain. He turned to the seagull and shouted, “He is not here is he? He’s not anywhere. He’s gone! No more dreams. Its all gone!”
The seagull, used to such vitriolic tirades, flapped its wings slowly but stood firm in a brazen show of courage and hope. “Piss off,” Raymond shouted at it and then stood. I came dad, he thought, just like you said, but I’m not coming again. He turned to walk back down the pier, back to his car, back to his home, but found his way barred by promenaders who had come to a standstill, staring at him with their mouths agape. So Raymond turned and walked the other way, towards the sea; the sea that his dad had loved so much. The seagull, bless his hardy soul, followed.
Joe.
so here it is, the first chapter/Prologue/Introduction, let me know what you think.
The captain and his mate
It was a balmy summer’s eve and Raymond Figg sat on the edge of the pier, legs dangling over the side, staring at his kneecaps, deep in thought. The very same pier he used to visit with his dad when he was just a boy; the very same spot where he and his dad had spent many an afternoon watching the boats hoist their sails as they made their way out to sea. One day we will have our own boat, Raymond’s dad used to say, you and me, son, the captain and his mate.
Raymond allowed a smile to escape his lips as he remembered those afternoons; they seemed so long ago now, like they belonged to someone else. They dreamed big dreams on that pier, Raymond and his dad. The world, it had seemed, was a place full of magic where anything was possible: a world where Raymond had felt 10 feet tall. No matter where or what you are in life, his father would say, the only things you need are dreams, faith and a kind heart and you will do great things, my beautiful son.
Raymond could feel a lump begin to form in his throat. He lifted his head and scanned the marina looking for the boat that his dad had loved so much, an old fashioned thing that looked like a mini-pirate boat. We’ll buy one just like that one, son, his dad used to say, can you draw it for me? We’ll need the drawings when we build it. But Raymond could not see the boat, not that he expected to, so much had changed since he was a boy.
A lone seagull landed next to Raymond on the pier. They never did get to build the boat of their dreams, he and his dad. As Raymond approached his 9th birthday, the visits to the pier became more and more infrequent. And when they did visit, his dad spent a lot of time just staring at nothing. If he did speak, he would repeat the same words over and over, Raymond, he would say, promise me something, remember how I told you to have faith, have faith in this, if ever your mind is troubled then come sit by the sea, you may not be able to see me, but I will always be here and you can talk to me. And I promise I will be listening.
The lump in Raymond’s throat had turned into a ball, his eyes began to moisten and his chest felt as though it was held firm in a tight clamp. He had not cried since he was 9 years old and he fought it. Coming to the pier was not such a good idea. Everything he’d read told him he must confront the past if he was to heal and grow, but all could feel as he sat on that pier was pain. He turned to the seagull and shouted, “He is not here is he? He’s not anywhere. He’s gone! No more dreams. Its all gone!”
The seagull, used to such vitriolic tirades, flapped its wings slowly but stood firm in a brazen show of courage and hope. “Piss off,” Raymond shouted at it and then stood. I came dad, he thought, just like you said, but I’m not coming again. He turned to walk back down the pier, back to his car, back to his home, but found his way barred by promenaders who had come to a standstill, staring at him with their mouths agape. So Raymond turned and walked the other way, towards the sea; the sea that his dad had loved so much. The seagull, bless his hardy soul, followed.
Joe.
Monday, May 12, 2008
All you need is love...da dadada
Hello to anyone reading this blog.
Yes, Sarah, thanks for your comments. Yes you are a romantic at heart and bless your soul for it.
This theme of love is so central to this story. Captain Angus's love for his wife, the lack of love in Raymond's life after such a love-filled childhood. I often wonder what the 'true' nature of love is. Is there one love that is more powerful than another? Does the eternal love of a couple outshine the love a man who has spent his life engrossed in the photography of nature so the world can see its beauty, or the love of a single mum for her child? Is there an underlying principle that forms the bedrock for all forms of love.
One of the reader's comments are interesting in that she says serial killers and dictators do what they do because they do not know love. I am not sure I agree, I want to agree but I am not sure I can. Often through history, these people had lovers, wives, husbands. Some of them had a love for their people that seemed to be all-consuming. To me, there seems to be many types of love; love that can inspire, comfort, sustain, and love that can fracture, enslave, rent and destroy - and all shades in-between. Whether we consider these forms of love to be worthy or not, they are there. Many a wonder has been created out of love - the Taj Mahal for example and on the other hand, many a travesty has been enacted in the name of love.
What I am particularly interested to discover and explore for Raymond and The captain; is what makes the love that binds a couple together forever? What are the ingredients that sustain the all-powerful feeling of wanting to be with another human being for the rest of our lives? Is that possible at all in this modern world where people can live without a partner or family unit more easily than they have ever been able to do so in the past (at least in the western world); a world where men and women are more independent and their expectations are higher.
The facts and figures suggest that a sole partner relationships that extend past 20 years are becoming rare. I want to know why. Can we love more than one person in our lives and is each love as strong as the previous?
And the big questions...
Can we be truly happy in this world without being in a love-filled monogamous relationship with another? Are there other forms of love besides one-to-one relationships that can sustain us? A love of god? A love of the world and its people? A love for your art, your vocation? A love of oneself? A love of a dependant? What is the true definition of love in the modern world? And finally, what is the meaning of 'true' love and what is the power of love in the modern world?
Like Sarah, I want to know more about Captain Angus. He has a love that has sustained him into old age. How did that happen? What has made his love so eternal? Is it him, was it his wife, both, or love itself, that has kept them together? And Raymond, he is young in this modern world, he had a loving partner but left her, he is not sure what love is and does not search for it. Why? What difference would it make to his life, his mental health?
I will be asking Raymond and the Captain all these questions in the next few months. We have plenty of time the three of us, they are now as much a part of my life as my 'flesh and blood' friends are.
I welcome your thoughts and comments as always.
Joe.
P.S I have written the first 6 chapters in draft. I showed a friend the prologue and she said it made her very emotional as she has young boys and the prologue revolves around Raymond as a young boy sitting on the pier with his dad, happy in dreams of pirate ships and adventures.
I'm not sure about publishing any of it on this forum due to copyright, I'll have to check. Extracts may be fine though.
Yes, Sarah, thanks for your comments. Yes you are a romantic at heart and bless your soul for it.
This theme of love is so central to this story. Captain Angus's love for his wife, the lack of love in Raymond's life after such a love-filled childhood. I often wonder what the 'true' nature of love is. Is there one love that is more powerful than another? Does the eternal love of a couple outshine the love a man who has spent his life engrossed in the photography of nature so the world can see its beauty, or the love of a single mum for her child? Is there an underlying principle that forms the bedrock for all forms of love.
One of the reader's comments are interesting in that she says serial killers and dictators do what they do because they do not know love. I am not sure I agree, I want to agree but I am not sure I can. Often through history, these people had lovers, wives, husbands. Some of them had a love for their people that seemed to be all-consuming. To me, there seems to be many types of love; love that can inspire, comfort, sustain, and love that can fracture, enslave, rent and destroy - and all shades in-between. Whether we consider these forms of love to be worthy or not, they are there. Many a wonder has been created out of love - the Taj Mahal for example and on the other hand, many a travesty has been enacted in the name of love.
What I am particularly interested to discover and explore for Raymond and The captain; is what makes the love that binds a couple together forever? What are the ingredients that sustain the all-powerful feeling of wanting to be with another human being for the rest of our lives? Is that possible at all in this modern world where people can live without a partner or family unit more easily than they have ever been able to do so in the past (at least in the western world); a world where men and women are more independent and their expectations are higher.
The facts and figures suggest that a sole partner relationships that extend past 20 years are becoming rare. I want to know why. Can we love more than one person in our lives and is each love as strong as the previous?
And the big questions...
Can we be truly happy in this world without being in a love-filled monogamous relationship with another? Are there other forms of love besides one-to-one relationships that can sustain us? A love of god? A love of the world and its people? A love for your art, your vocation? A love of oneself? A love of a dependant? What is the true definition of love in the modern world? And finally, what is the meaning of 'true' love and what is the power of love in the modern world?
Like Sarah, I want to know more about Captain Angus. He has a love that has sustained him into old age. How did that happen? What has made his love so eternal? Is it him, was it his wife, both, or love itself, that has kept them together? And Raymond, he is young in this modern world, he had a loving partner but left her, he is not sure what love is and does not search for it. Why? What difference would it make to his life, his mental health?
I will be asking Raymond and the Captain all these questions in the next few months. We have plenty of time the three of us, they are now as much a part of my life as my 'flesh and blood' friends are.
I welcome your thoughts and comments as always.
Joe.
P.S I have written the first 6 chapters in draft. I showed a friend the prologue and she said it made her very emotional as she has young boys and the prologue revolves around Raymond as a young boy sitting on the pier with his dad, happy in dreams of pirate ships and adventures.
I'm not sure about publishing any of it on this forum due to copyright, I'll have to check. Extracts may be fine though.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Raymond Figg
Again,
thanks for the feedback and comments from Shannon, Kisatrtle and Rocky.
I was just wondering if you guys, or anyone else who stumbles upon my rantings, knows of any good tools or applications that I should put on the blog. My main aim is to be able to communicate easily with people who view my blog and highlight comments from contributors as a thank-you for their effort. I want people to contribute to the development of this story and I want to make it as easy as possible.
Back to Raymond Figg. Rocky has asked about the root cause of his breakdown.
I am not entirely sure yet myself. Raymond has been with me now for a few days and like meeting a new friend, slowly I am learning more and more and where once he was like the silhouette of a stranger passing by me on a foggy night, I can now see him with increasing clarity, his physical features at least.
I make him to be in his early 30's and attractive not in your archetypal square-jawed, tall dark and handsome way, but in a boyish way. You can still see the boy in his face and eyes. About 5f10, with curly brown hair and soft eyes.
In my mind's eye his sits with me on a beach and we are staring out over the water towards a sunset. I wonder why he chose to bring me here. Off to our left I see a pier and there I see "The Selkie" with Captain Angus sitting on its deck. I turn my mind's eye back to Raymond; he seems pensive and his face is downcast. I wonder if it has always been this way. I think about what question to ask him first but he beats me to the punch:
"What's happened to me?" he asks himself more than me. "I used to be happy. Great job managing a team in a call-centre. Great girl. Great friends. Great life." He picks up a shell and casts it towards the water. "I was the life of the party, full of energy, looked forward always." He turns to face me. "I had dreams, Joe," he says. "I believed I could do great things. The world was full of magic and opportunities..." he turns away again and picks up another shell which he throws with venom into the water. "Now my life's gone to crap and I don't know why." He shakes his head. "What happened to the old Raymond Figg. I want him back. Now."
I can't help but feel for Raymond. There are a thousand questions I want to ask but this will take time, I need to go slowly and ask the right questions as you would with anyone in pain whom you hope will become a friend. Instinct tells me the questions can wait and it is more important to listen.
"12 months ago," he continues. "Out of nowhere. I wake up feeling a bit funny. I had a lot on at work. I try to get ready but this funny feeling doesn't go away. I feel light-headed, like I've eaten something spoiled. I sit down on my bed and I start to think the walls aren't real. Can you believe it? I'm sitting on my bed looking at the walls thinking, my goodness are they real and then I start to think the same about the floor, I feel like it's insubstantial, incapable of supporting my weight, that If I step onto it I am going to fall into some abyss. My heart starts to pound trying to force it's way out of my ribcage, there's a steel collar around my throat and I'm finding it hard to breathe, I feel like I'm going to soil myself, a cold sweat forms on my forehead. I want to get to the phone but I'm scared of getting off my bed...I feel like I'm going to die."
I nod.
He stands and walks to the water's edge; he is facing away from me looking out to sea. "Where did this come from? Why?" He turns back to me. "I'm 32 and I had to call an ambulance. And there was nothing wrong with me. Panic attack the doctor's said. See your mental health professional. I AM NOT CRAZY!"
He walks back and resumes his seat. "Ever since that day I've changed. Every little spike in my body and I think Oh Oh here we go again. I check my pulse every day. I check for hospital locations when I go out just in case...." He pauses. "Does this sound like a normal 32 year old to you?"
I'm not sure if he wants me to answer so I remain silent.
"Well?" he asks.
"Have you sought help, Ray?" I ask.
"Mental health professionals?"
"Yes."
"No. I'll get through this. I'm no quitter. I've done some research on the net. Read the forums. I've learned how to control the panic. I'll find myself again. This is just a rough patch."
"You need to talk to people," I say.
"I'm talking to you."
"Not just me. What about your friends? Family?"
"I don't see my friends much anymore."
"Why?" I ask but he doesn't answer. "What about your family?"
Raymond gets up again and stares at the pier 200 metres to our left. "My father used to take me there when I was little," he says. "Loved boats, he did. We were going to buy our own boat one day, dad and I. There was an old boat at that pier, one that dad used to get me to draw when I was little, so we could build it when I got old enough."
Raymond turns back to face me, there are tears in his eyes. "My dad used to say, 'Imagine the adventures, son. You and me. The captain and his mate.'" He kicks the sand and scoffs. "All gone," he says.
"The Boat?" I ask.
"The Boat. Our Adventures. My dad."
Before I have a chance to say anything, he leaves me. And I am left with a 1000 more questions.
thanks for the feedback and comments from Shannon, Kisatrtle and Rocky.
I was just wondering if you guys, or anyone else who stumbles upon my rantings, knows of any good tools or applications that I should put on the blog. My main aim is to be able to communicate easily with people who view my blog and highlight comments from contributors as a thank-you for their effort. I want people to contribute to the development of this story and I want to make it as easy as possible.
Back to Raymond Figg. Rocky has asked about the root cause of his breakdown.
I am not entirely sure yet myself. Raymond has been with me now for a few days and like meeting a new friend, slowly I am learning more and more and where once he was like the silhouette of a stranger passing by me on a foggy night, I can now see him with increasing clarity, his physical features at least.
I make him to be in his early 30's and attractive not in your archetypal square-jawed, tall dark and handsome way, but in a boyish way. You can still see the boy in his face and eyes. About 5f10, with curly brown hair and soft eyes.
In my mind's eye his sits with me on a beach and we are staring out over the water towards a sunset. I wonder why he chose to bring me here. Off to our left I see a pier and there I see "The Selkie" with Captain Angus sitting on its deck. I turn my mind's eye back to Raymond; he seems pensive and his face is downcast. I wonder if it has always been this way. I think about what question to ask him first but he beats me to the punch:
"What's happened to me?" he asks himself more than me. "I used to be happy. Great job managing a team in a call-centre. Great girl. Great friends. Great life." He picks up a shell and casts it towards the water. "I was the life of the party, full of energy, looked forward always." He turns to face me. "I had dreams, Joe," he says. "I believed I could do great things. The world was full of magic and opportunities..." he turns away again and picks up another shell which he throws with venom into the water. "Now my life's gone to crap and I don't know why." He shakes his head. "What happened to the old Raymond Figg. I want him back. Now."
I can't help but feel for Raymond. There are a thousand questions I want to ask but this will take time, I need to go slowly and ask the right questions as you would with anyone in pain whom you hope will become a friend. Instinct tells me the questions can wait and it is more important to listen.
"12 months ago," he continues. "Out of nowhere. I wake up feeling a bit funny. I had a lot on at work. I try to get ready but this funny feeling doesn't go away. I feel light-headed, like I've eaten something spoiled. I sit down on my bed and I start to think the walls aren't real. Can you believe it? I'm sitting on my bed looking at the walls thinking, my goodness are they real and then I start to think the same about the floor, I feel like it's insubstantial, incapable of supporting my weight, that If I step onto it I am going to fall into some abyss. My heart starts to pound trying to force it's way out of my ribcage, there's a steel collar around my throat and I'm finding it hard to breathe, I feel like I'm going to soil myself, a cold sweat forms on my forehead. I want to get to the phone but I'm scared of getting off my bed...I feel like I'm going to die."
I nod.
He stands and walks to the water's edge; he is facing away from me looking out to sea. "Where did this come from? Why?" He turns back to me. "I'm 32 and I had to call an ambulance. And there was nothing wrong with me. Panic attack the doctor's said. See your mental health professional. I AM NOT CRAZY!"
He walks back and resumes his seat. "Ever since that day I've changed. Every little spike in my body and I think Oh Oh here we go again. I check my pulse every day. I check for hospital locations when I go out just in case...." He pauses. "Does this sound like a normal 32 year old to you?"
I'm not sure if he wants me to answer so I remain silent.
"Well?" he asks.
"Have you sought help, Ray?" I ask.
"Mental health professionals?"
"Yes."
"No. I'll get through this. I'm no quitter. I've done some research on the net. Read the forums. I've learned how to control the panic. I'll find myself again. This is just a rough patch."
"You need to talk to people," I say.
"I'm talking to you."
"Not just me. What about your friends? Family?"
"I don't see my friends much anymore."
"Why?" I ask but he doesn't answer. "What about your family?"
Raymond gets up again and stares at the pier 200 metres to our left. "My father used to take me there when I was little," he says. "Loved boats, he did. We were going to buy our own boat one day, dad and I. There was an old boat at that pier, one that dad used to get me to draw when I was little, so we could build it when I got old enough."
Raymond turns back to face me, there are tears in his eyes. "My dad used to say, 'Imagine the adventures, son. You and me. The captain and his mate.'" He kicks the sand and scoffs. "All gone," he says.
"The Boat?" I ask.
"The Boat. Our Adventures. My dad."
Before I have a chance to say anything, he leaves me. And I am left with a 1000 more questions.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Captain Angus Cargill
Firstly let me say an enormous thanks to Shannon and Kisatrtle for reading my blog. I am truly honoured.
Everywhere I look at the moment, and maybe because I have a heightened sensitivity to it due to story that is forming in my head, I see and hear people extolling the virtues of new age spirituality, of modern day guides: The celestine philosophy, The secret, the works of Eckhart Tolle, just to name a few.
Tolle is now a household name due mainly in part to Oprah and the online classes discussing his work. I have read his latest and many other works by philosophers new and old when I felt my mind becoming receptive to the ideas of happiness and meaning in the modern world.
I have no doubt that the teachings of spiritual leaders and philosophers help many to find happiness. But I also wonder if it is sustainable, will the works of some of these teachers still be mentioned in years to come or are they cyclical? Do they hold the same value to all or are they simply products of the western world's desire to get away from the 'rat race'? How does "the secret" help a starving child in Africa? How does "living in the now" help a family that is starving with no money? Would significant human achievements like those of Martin Luther King have happened if the man did not have a vision for the future?
Physicists search for unification. The unifying law that brings together the various theories: string, quantum, relativity... and unites them all in an single unquestionable truth.
Do we have a single unifying law for the soul and spirit?
John Lennon famously said "all you need is love." Is that true? Can serial killers love? Dictators bent on shaping the world in their own image, are they capable of love?
Is faith that unifying law? God? And is he for everyone?
What is that single undeniable truth for happiness? Is there just one? Is there any?
All these questions form a maelstrom of ideas, doubts and questions in my mind. My mind is set on a track to write this book and Raymond Figg has appeared in my head. But writing is not a start at A finish at B process. My mind having focused on the theme of my story now begins to explore all the tangents and in the maelstrom, seeds begin to be planted. I feed them with information relating to the story I want to write and the seeds begin to germinate, their young and delicate shoots are buffeted by the winds of the maelstrom - but the seedlings have taken hold and they are strong.
One of these seedlings is Captain Angus Cargill. The maelstrom in my mind ceases and clarity sharp and vivid takes over. I see the Captain sitting on his boat. He is weather worn and ancient, wisps of white hair float around his head on the gentle sea breezes. His boat seems in a similar state of disrepair, detritus strewn all over its deck. He looks at me with eyes that are sharp and strong but full of sorrow. "It is time for me to go," he says. "Where?" I ask. "I wish to go to my love." A solitary tear rolls down his cheek. "Where is your love?" I ask. "She rests with the seals," he replies. I notice the name of his boat "The Selkie". The legendary seal people of Ireland and Scotland. "That's impossible," I say. He looks at me and through his eyes I see his will begin to fall apart. "You are right," he says. "But not because I do not ever have faith but because my body fails me and I cannot ready this ship for my last voyage."
I am not sure what to say to him, his sorrow has touched me. "She," he begins, "was my soul's partner." He looks away. "With her last breaths, she took my hand and kissed it, 'I love you Angus Cargill' she said to me, 'keep me in your mind and have faith that I will be near you always, in the sea that you love, with seals that we both loved.'" The captain seems to have become older in front of me with the burden of his sorrow. "I've failed her memory," he says. "This boat will not be ready and I have lost my strength and my faith." He looks back to me and the fire and intensity has returned to his eyes. "So it is time for me to go, maybe you can help me young man. If you cannot I will go of my own accord, I have had a good life, travelled the world, met many people, I have loved and learned but now there is nothing left for me here."
I don't know what to say, the captain's image stays fixed in my mind and I feel a ball in my throat at his plight. "You can't go," I scream in my mind's eye. "You can't. You still have so much to give." The Captain looks at me with a mixture of hope, confusion and sorrow. "I am old and beaten," he says, "I have nothing left for you." I physically shake my head even though my conversation with the captain is happening in my imagination. "NO YOU CAN'T GO ANGUS. I have someone for you to meet," I say. "Raymond Figg is his name. He needs you. And you need him. Please."
The Captain of the Selkie nods. I am mentally exhausted but happy.
Raymond Figg wants to talk, he has something to tell me about his father. I don't have the energy. I need to go outside and see the world. Talk to people of flesh and blood.
Joe.
Everywhere I look at the moment, and maybe because I have a heightened sensitivity to it due to story that is forming in my head, I see and hear people extolling the virtues of new age spirituality, of modern day guides: The celestine philosophy, The secret, the works of Eckhart Tolle, just to name a few.
Tolle is now a household name due mainly in part to Oprah and the online classes discussing his work. I have read his latest and many other works by philosophers new and old when I felt my mind becoming receptive to the ideas of happiness and meaning in the modern world.
I have no doubt that the teachings of spiritual leaders and philosophers help many to find happiness. But I also wonder if it is sustainable, will the works of some of these teachers still be mentioned in years to come or are they cyclical? Do they hold the same value to all or are they simply products of the western world's desire to get away from the 'rat race'? How does "the secret" help a starving child in Africa? How does "living in the now" help a family that is starving with no money? Would significant human achievements like those of Martin Luther King have happened if the man did not have a vision for the future?
Physicists search for unification. The unifying law that brings together the various theories: string, quantum, relativity... and unites them all in an single unquestionable truth.
Do we have a single unifying law for the soul and spirit?
John Lennon famously said "all you need is love." Is that true? Can serial killers love? Dictators bent on shaping the world in their own image, are they capable of love?
Is faith that unifying law? God? And is he for everyone?
What is that single undeniable truth for happiness? Is there just one? Is there any?
All these questions form a maelstrom of ideas, doubts and questions in my mind. My mind is set on a track to write this book and Raymond Figg has appeared in my head. But writing is not a start at A finish at B process. My mind having focused on the theme of my story now begins to explore all the tangents and in the maelstrom, seeds begin to be planted. I feed them with information relating to the story I want to write and the seeds begin to germinate, their young and delicate shoots are buffeted by the winds of the maelstrom - but the seedlings have taken hold and they are strong.
One of these seedlings is Captain Angus Cargill. The maelstrom in my mind ceases and clarity sharp and vivid takes over. I see the Captain sitting on his boat. He is weather worn and ancient, wisps of white hair float around his head on the gentle sea breezes. His boat seems in a similar state of disrepair, detritus strewn all over its deck. He looks at me with eyes that are sharp and strong but full of sorrow. "It is time for me to go," he says. "Where?" I ask. "I wish to go to my love." A solitary tear rolls down his cheek. "Where is your love?" I ask. "She rests with the seals," he replies. I notice the name of his boat "The Selkie". The legendary seal people of Ireland and Scotland. "That's impossible," I say. He looks at me and through his eyes I see his will begin to fall apart. "You are right," he says. "But not because I do not ever have faith but because my body fails me and I cannot ready this ship for my last voyage."
I am not sure what to say to him, his sorrow has touched me. "She," he begins, "was my soul's partner." He looks away. "With her last breaths, she took my hand and kissed it, 'I love you Angus Cargill' she said to me, 'keep me in your mind and have faith that I will be near you always, in the sea that you love, with seals that we both loved.'" The captain seems to have become older in front of me with the burden of his sorrow. "I've failed her memory," he says. "This boat will not be ready and I have lost my strength and my faith." He looks back to me and the fire and intensity has returned to his eyes. "So it is time for me to go, maybe you can help me young man. If you cannot I will go of my own accord, I have had a good life, travelled the world, met many people, I have loved and learned but now there is nothing left for me here."
I don't know what to say, the captain's image stays fixed in my mind and I feel a ball in my throat at his plight. "You can't go," I scream in my mind's eye. "You can't. You still have so much to give." The Captain looks at me with a mixture of hope, confusion and sorrow. "I am old and beaten," he says, "I have nothing left for you." I physically shake my head even though my conversation with the captain is happening in my imagination. "NO YOU CAN'T GO ANGUS. I have someone for you to meet," I say. "Raymond Figg is his name. He needs you. And you need him. Please."
The Captain of the Selkie nods. I am mentally exhausted but happy.
Raymond Figg wants to talk, he has something to tell me about his father. I don't have the energy. I need to go outside and see the world. Talk to people of flesh and blood.
Joe.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The seeds have been planted
0 comments, o views. Funny. Maybe I should concentrate more on writing my ms (manuscript) then on blogging. But something tells me that I should be doing this, for a number of reasons, and I have learned to trust my instincts even if I 'm not sure of the language they are using to speak to me.
I briefly toyed with the idea of researching strategies to supercharge the traffic to my blog but then thought otherwise. I've had to scratch and fight so hard to get my other projects to publication that I feel like I deserve a crack at trusting to fate. So I've decided I'm going to leave the blog in the hands of the of the "word-of-mouth gods" and if interest is generated then so be it.
The central theme of "happiness in the modern world" has been bouncing off of the grey-matter walls in my head for days. Pressure creates diamonds and I think the same applies with ideas. Constant musing on ideas - with numerous iterations, changes of mind, reshaping, going off on tangents - generally leads to moments of clarity. These moments usually occur when you've taken a rest from staring at the same spot, like some madman, talking to yourself while trying to reach a revelation on the central theme of the story you're going to tell. Out of habit, I try to frame the central theme into one sentence that will encapsulate the story that I wish to tell. I find that this technique stops me from trying to write about too many themes and muddling the true message of what I want to get across. My father, a very wise man, once told me that the best tasting pizza is the one that is simplest, because you can be sure to taste the flavour -too many ingredients and the flavours are lost.
Anyhow, I digress, please forgive me.
Back to the central theme of "happiness in the modern world". I have a character forming in my head and his name is Raymond Figg. He is sitting on the side of his bed with his head held in his hands. A year ago he suffered an anxiety attack and the resulting depression has changed his world forever. Before his anxiety episode he had everything a successful guy could want: a great job, a loving partner, friends. He has told no one that he's suffering, not even his family, and he refuses to seek help. He thinks he'll be alright. I (the writer) am not so sure and I begin to worry for him. I want to know more about him? What happened? Where did the anxiety and depression come from if he had such a good life?
It's time for bed (for me the writer) and as I close my eyes, Raymond's face appears and he begins to talk to me. Here we go, the madness of creation begins.
I briefly toyed with the idea of researching strategies to supercharge the traffic to my blog but then thought otherwise. I've had to scratch and fight so hard to get my other projects to publication that I feel like I deserve a crack at trusting to fate. So I've decided I'm going to leave the blog in the hands of the of the "word-of-mouth gods" and if interest is generated then so be it.
The central theme of "happiness in the modern world" has been bouncing off of the grey-matter walls in my head for days. Pressure creates diamonds and I think the same applies with ideas. Constant musing on ideas - with numerous iterations, changes of mind, reshaping, going off on tangents - generally leads to moments of clarity. These moments usually occur when you've taken a rest from staring at the same spot, like some madman, talking to yourself while trying to reach a revelation on the central theme of the story you're going to tell. Out of habit, I try to frame the central theme into one sentence that will encapsulate the story that I wish to tell. I find that this technique stops me from trying to write about too many themes and muddling the true message of what I want to get across. My father, a very wise man, once told me that the best tasting pizza is the one that is simplest, because you can be sure to taste the flavour -too many ingredients and the flavours are lost.
Anyhow, I digress, please forgive me.
Back to the central theme of "happiness in the modern world". I have a character forming in my head and his name is Raymond Figg. He is sitting on the side of his bed with his head held in his hands. A year ago he suffered an anxiety attack and the resulting depression has changed his world forever. Before his anxiety episode he had everything a successful guy could want: a great job, a loving partner, friends. He has told no one that he's suffering, not even his family, and he refuses to seek help. He thinks he'll be alright. I (the writer) am not so sure and I begin to worry for him. I want to know more about him? What happened? Where did the anxiety and depression come from if he had such a good life?
It's time for bed (for me the writer) and as I close my eyes, Raymond's face appears and he begins to talk to me. Here we go, the madness of creation begins.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
It starts with an idea
Have you ever wondered where your favourite book started? What was the original thought that prompted J.K Rowling to begin creating the world of Harry Potter? Where did Willy Wonka come from?
The genesis of such incredible feats of imagination always intrigues me. Now I don't profess to be Rowling or Dahl, I have been lucky enough to see a few of my works go to publication and more importantly, have people enjoy my work. For me, the idea for a book rarely comes when I am striving to think about an idea for a book. Sitting in front of a computer thinking, Right what's my next book going to be about, is never a very productive or fruitful exercise. For me, ideas come when I immerse myself and become receptive to all that goes on around me, where all forms of stimulus - TV, other books, the net, world news, people, nature, conversation - spark my imagination into action. Where information is stored in my brain in the form of an abstract melting pot of unrelated events, people and raw data. As time passes, as I continue to take in more of the world around me, a single event, person of raw piece of data will trigger a link to something already stored in my brain and the genesis of an idea begins to form.
Sounds confusing? Let me illustrate the above by telling you how the idea for my new project came along.
It's been a year or so since I finished my last project and I had decided to take a rest from writing. Plus a few dramatic personal issues got in the way of my muse. Funny but for me I can feel myself entering into a state where I need to begin writing and creating, it is like a physical pull that I can't resist and if I ignore it, it drives me insane. A few months ago I felt the push to begin to create, so my mind automatically became hypersensitive to all that was going on around me: wars, starvation, drought, terrorism. The world seemed an unhappy place. When I ventured out I noticed that a lot of my friends seemed to be unhappy, and others I spoke too were not happy. This pall of pessimism and unhappiness seemed to be penetrating to individuals and to the souls of individuals. At this stage this was merely an observation on my part but then I began to notice the amount of ads on mental illness, anxiety, depression. I began to notice the amount of people spruiking knowledge on how to be happy. I sat at cafes where well dressed people digested gourmet meals and the words of Eckhart Tolle. I listened to talk back radio where people swore by "The Secret". Everywhere I looked there seemed to be people searching for happiness and meaning and others that claimed to have found it.
It got me to thinking, why are so many people unhappy these days? Why are so many people, many of them young searching for answers? Has the mid-life crisis shifted forward 20 years? Is the spiritual and religious world not enough to sustain the lost souls of the modern world? How much has modern society got to do with this epidemic of the lost and sad? Many of the people I spoke to were well off, in loving relationships and yet they still felt they were missing something.
And then I saw the old man sitting on a park bench seemingly smiling at nothing. Was he a senile old bugger? Or did he know something that I didn't, that most of us younger than he do not? Has anyone ever bothered to ask him?
And the idea for my next book began to take shape. We look for knowledge on how to be happy from texts, tv, radio, newspapers and yet for the most part we ignore the wisdom of those who would be in the best position to provide insight; those that have actually lived a life and can still smile. Maybe we are all looking for happiness in the wrong place.
So I have the idea. Synapses in my brain are firing into life. Characters are beginning to form in my head of their own volition; the characters are wispy and ethereal and I try to stem the tide telling myself that there is still work to do on the concept before I can even think about the landscape and characters of the book.
I have an idea, but I need to be clear on what this story will be about, or risk beginning the writing process and stopping half way because the idea was jumbled from the outset.
I grab my coat, walk down to the beach and go for a walk, all the while thinking to myself. Here we go again. The writing process is about to begin and it's a long and arduous journey. Are you up for it? I ask myself. I know the answer. I have no choice. If I was to ignore this idea it would chatter at me inside my brain demanding to be formed. Yep, I have no choice and I am glad for that.
So now the hard work begins, I hope you follow my journey and I welcome your company and your comments and maybe even your friendship.
regards,
Joe.
Next: The characters begin to form in my mind
The genesis of such incredible feats of imagination always intrigues me. Now I don't profess to be Rowling or Dahl, I have been lucky enough to see a few of my works go to publication and more importantly, have people enjoy my work. For me, the idea for a book rarely comes when I am striving to think about an idea for a book. Sitting in front of a computer thinking, Right what's my next book going to be about, is never a very productive or fruitful exercise. For me, ideas come when I immerse myself and become receptive to all that goes on around me, where all forms of stimulus - TV, other books, the net, world news, people, nature, conversation - spark my imagination into action. Where information is stored in my brain in the form of an abstract melting pot of unrelated events, people and raw data. As time passes, as I continue to take in more of the world around me, a single event, person of raw piece of data will trigger a link to something already stored in my brain and the genesis of an idea begins to form.
Sounds confusing? Let me illustrate the above by telling you how the idea for my new project came along.
It's been a year or so since I finished my last project and I had decided to take a rest from writing. Plus a few dramatic personal issues got in the way of my muse. Funny but for me I can feel myself entering into a state where I need to begin writing and creating, it is like a physical pull that I can't resist and if I ignore it, it drives me insane. A few months ago I felt the push to begin to create, so my mind automatically became hypersensitive to all that was going on around me: wars, starvation, drought, terrorism. The world seemed an unhappy place. When I ventured out I noticed that a lot of my friends seemed to be unhappy, and others I spoke too were not happy. This pall of pessimism and unhappiness seemed to be penetrating to individuals and to the souls of individuals. At this stage this was merely an observation on my part but then I began to notice the amount of ads on mental illness, anxiety, depression. I began to notice the amount of people spruiking knowledge on how to be happy. I sat at cafes where well dressed people digested gourmet meals and the words of Eckhart Tolle. I listened to talk back radio where people swore by "The Secret". Everywhere I looked there seemed to be people searching for happiness and meaning and others that claimed to have found it.
It got me to thinking, why are so many people unhappy these days? Why are so many people, many of them young searching for answers? Has the mid-life crisis shifted forward 20 years? Is the spiritual and religious world not enough to sustain the lost souls of the modern world? How much has modern society got to do with this epidemic of the lost and sad? Many of the people I spoke to were well off, in loving relationships and yet they still felt they were missing something.
And then I saw the old man sitting on a park bench seemingly smiling at nothing. Was he a senile old bugger? Or did he know something that I didn't, that most of us younger than he do not? Has anyone ever bothered to ask him?
And the idea for my next book began to take shape. We look for knowledge on how to be happy from texts, tv, radio, newspapers and yet for the most part we ignore the wisdom of those who would be in the best position to provide insight; those that have actually lived a life and can still smile. Maybe we are all looking for happiness in the wrong place.
So I have the idea. Synapses in my brain are firing into life. Characters are beginning to form in my head of their own volition; the characters are wispy and ethereal and I try to stem the tide telling myself that there is still work to do on the concept before I can even think about the landscape and characters of the book.
I have an idea, but I need to be clear on what this story will be about, or risk beginning the writing process and stopping half way because the idea was jumbled from the outset.
I grab my coat, walk down to the beach and go for a walk, all the while thinking to myself. Here we go again. The writing process is about to begin and it's a long and arduous journey. Are you up for it? I ask myself. I know the answer. I have no choice. If I was to ignore this idea it would chatter at me inside my brain demanding to be formed. Yep, I have no choice and I am glad for that.
So now the hard work begins, I hope you follow my journey and I welcome your company and your comments and maybe even your friendship.
regards,
Joe.
Next: The characters begin to form in my mind
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