My Previous Book.

My previous book titled, "My Previous Book", has been seen in various trash cans all over the planet.  I find this disillusioning.  You would think, in this day and age, that people would recycle and put said book in the appropriate bin.
I have been swamped, nothing to do with the British weather, I have been swamped with aspiring authors asking me what's the secret to writing a novel.  Yes, slight exaggeration, but I've had a number of aspiring writers forward me their work and asked for my opinion.   I've been interacting with one writer, who is doing a very secretive science fiction concept book that entails some hopefully exciting news.
I once wrote a science fiction posting.  Thought it might be obvious that the narrator in the story was talking about the sighting of UFO's from a world we are familiar with.  The narrator was talking about witnessing people from earth and wondering if these sightings had peaceful intentions.  Somehow, the article got lost in translation. Thus, the posting backfired. I thought the ending paragraph might be a bit of a clue. "I stared up into the darkened sky.  A neon storm raged and distorted the view of our two purple moons.  I thought of what our world had witnessed.  Would the lights and the beings within, return?  Where do they come from?  If they do return; will they come in peace?" There's a lot to be said about writing science fiction that captures the imagination.  If you have the time or the inclination, here is the link to my attempt at science fiction, Where Do They Come From?   
Another one of my books, written previously to My Previous Book, titled, "How Not To Write A Book", is now available on 'eekPublishing'. A few um 'highlights' of How Not To Write A Book, include alternate definitions to words.  Here are some examples.  "Condescending", definition: 'prisoner abseiling'.  "Analog", definition: 'A diary of all the crap times in your life'.  "Analogy", definition, 'the scientific study of assholes'.  Indeed, How Not To Write A Book, is strewn with the finest of grammar anarchy, complete with run-on sentences that frankly, leave you gasping for breath.......
Now for something completely serious.  I have the utmost admiration for writers, aspiring and published.  If you are still waiting for that day that you realise your publishing dream, hold on to that dream and do your best, with dedication and determination, to see your dream become that cherished reality.
My next book, "Fifty One Shades Of Shit", is almost complete.  No writing 'constipation' with this one.  As a matter of fart, I mean, as a matter of fact, I'm all flushed with excitement knowing this book will be must reading for a wide variety of folks, notably sewage treatment workers.  And with that, this posting has reached the bottom.

'Method' Writing.

When I write, I become the story. I call it 'method' writing. My thoughts transport me to a place of many and varying themes and emotions. Sadness, laughter, comedy, inspiration, loneliness, isolation and pain. A feeling becomes a story. When I think of sad times; the tears run down my cheeks. When I think of good times; the joy flows, and my fingers type a merry dance upon the keyboard.

Within this man beats the passion of someone who writes for therapy, who writes to make sense of it all, who writes to inspire himself and others. I am but one man, a man who has discovered the power of the written word.

Now, I will immerse myself, take on the sensations that are lingering in the depths of my soul. I sit here and sense my pain. I am sad , I am scared, I am lonely. The bravado I convey to the outside world is nearly shattered. The reality of my isolation comes so very close to battering away the force that is my positive spirit.

I sit here and I cry. I think of a love lost, shattered dreams and ambitions that died a slow and painful death. Why did it have to be this way? Why did I hurt those I care so very much about? The complexities and the self-destructive nature of my past actions have left be bewildered, confused and aching to make things right.

So, I work through what I'm experiencing; as I continue to type away. I know that the tears will subside. I will be cleansed. The healing process, my recovery, remains undaunted by the verbalisation of this moment. For this moment shall pass. I have written this for you and for me to read. I am feeling better.

Today was a lovely day. Autumn is here with its resplendent blaze of coloured leaves. A final splash of glorious colour before the plants and the trees go to sleep for the winter.