Each story Within the Invisible Pentacle explores the depths of human character, the quintessential disposition of living, and of life itself. They ask questions we often shy from, the ones we are afraid to ask ourselves, unearthed, revealed, and brought screaming into the daylight of recognition.
The prevailing factor is, each tale is written with consideration for our fragile human disposition, the fears, the dreams and wishes, the uncertainties and self-doubts we all carry inside ourselves, the human element of love, of life, of hope and survival.
Within the Invisible Pentacle is a collection of poignant, emotive stories, ones that will remain with you forever.
Yesterday, the news broke that Google is to kill off its social media platform Google+ because of a massive unreported data breach.
The official line is reported to be:
“The company discovered a bug in one of Google+’s People APIs that allowed apps access to data from Google+ profiles that weren’t marked as public. It included static data fields such as name, email, occupation, gender and age. It did not include information from Google+ posts. The bug was patched in March 2018, but Google didn’t inform users at that point. “We made Google+ with privacy in mind and therefore keep this API’s log data for only two weeks,” the company said in a blog post. “That means we cannot confirm which users were impacted by this bug.”
However, Google+ will continue as a product for Enterprise users. It’s by far the most popular use of the social network. Therefore, the company has made the decision that Google+ is better suited as an internal social network for companies, rather than a consumer product. Google will announce new Enterprise-focused products for Google+ soon”.
‘Disclosure will likely result “in us coming into the spotlight alongside or even instead of Facebook despite having stayed under the radar throughout the Cambridge Analytica scandal”, Google policy and legal officials wrote in a memo obtained by the Journal. It “almost guarantees Sundar will testify before Congress”, the memo said, referring to the company’s CEO, Sundar Pichai. The disclosure would also invite “immediate regulatory interest”.
As Google is re-developing a form of G+ for inter-corporate communications, yesterdays confirmation of data loss is timed to coincide with their new platform’s progress. Large-scale commercial internal networks are major revenue earners. They require far less maintenance and development than massive public platforms.
My conclusion is, the move by Google, seen by many as ‘dumping’ their dedicated public users, is one of pure commercial practice. We must wait and see if G+ simply fade away as Google hope, or if this decision will alienate users to the point they ditch Googles other products.
I know there are many other companies, both large and small, waiting to grab a slice of Googles internet cake who are ready to provide alternatives.
We shall have to wait and see. But looking at Google’s history, G+ will simply become history and Google will have made another profitable corporate decision.
Now, I use Google+ along with Facebook and other (social) media platforms. I shop, online and on the ‘high street’, at major retailers. I bank, have a passport and a driving license. I am registered with the National Health Service and the Inland Revenue. I do the thousand and one things most of us do in our everyday lives.
Which means I am on one million and one billion various computer databases, from Government statistical through to tax, health, police, social and political. I am sure, somewhere, I am in MI5 and MI6’s database, most probably the CIA, Mossad, SVR, GRU, and MSS because I have a military background and a connection with the British Royal Family.
I know, without any doubts whatsoever my information is on and shared by/with, thousands of commercial enterprises around the world. I have junk mail, email and phone call logs as proof.
I know this, yet I do let it worry me because there is nothing I can do about it unless I escape to the lost world of Neverlandislandjungleretreat and never raise my head above the totally off-grid parapet. Which sounds pretty good in some ways but is impractical for most of us.
So, I accept my details are not private and live accordingly.
Data breaches and hacking are as much part of this world’s current situation and social culture as is terrorism, gender disruption and socio-economic inflation.
Personally, I cannot understand what satisfaction someone could get from creating and spreading a computer virus, although I can see the intent with ransom-wear and state-sponsored cyber-attacks. (Practice for the cyberwars to come?)
Sadly, I can also see where the criminal element of data theft fits into the larger information technological world we all now, by default, live in.
Greed, avarice and power have always been the prime motives behind most illegalities. Nothing has changed except the methods and opportunities presented.
Governments and the less informed members of society will jump up and down and stomp their feet each time a major breach of information protocol is reported.
The government ministers will shout, saying it is their job to do so on behalf of the electorate, while most will be doing so simply to be seen, for self-promotion, regardless to what ‘spin’ or ‘party line’ mantra they mutter.
The less informed members of our society because, they are influenced, even controlled, by fickle, shallow, manipulative journalistic propaganda and bullshite.
So, Google has issues with G+ and what else are they not revealing?
Facebook still has ongoing issues.
But so, do:
Yahoo, Reddit, Instagram, FedEx, Ticketmaster, Adidas, U.S. Air Force, The FriendFinder Network, eBay, UnityPoint Health, St. Peter’s Surgery & Endoscopy Center, TaskRabbit, Equifax, Ticketfly, Heartland Payment Systems, Air Canada, University at Buffalo, Target Stores, Partners HealthCare, TJX Companies, Inc., Uber, Facebook, Aultman Health Foundation, Orbitz, Aetna, JP Morgan Chase, Inogen, US Office of Personnel Management (OPM), British Airways, Sony’s PlayStation Network, BJC Healthcare, Anthem, Dignity Health, RSA Security, CarePlus, Stuxnet, VeriSign, Home Depot, Jason’s Deli, Click2Gov – Midwest City, Under Armour, Saks Fifth Avenue, Bithumb, Med Associates, Chili’s, Nuance Communications, Lord & Taylor, SunTrust Banks, Panera Bread, City of Goodyear, Rail Europe, LifeBridge Health, MyHeritage, Coinrail, Chicago Public Schools (CPS) and Adobe?
ALL THE ABOVE SUFFERED MAJOR DATA AND SECURITY BREACHES IN THE LAST COUPLE OF YEARS, MANY DURING 2018.
In 2017, the world saw more data breaches than any year prior. On December 20th, the Identity Theft Resource Center (ITRC) reported that there were 1,293 total data breaches, compromising more than 174 million records. That’s 45% more breaches than 2016.
In truth, what can ‘Little ‘ol you and me’ do when major multi conglomerates and the world governments agencies cannot protect their own systems.
The answer is “Not a lot”.
Like any other crime, do what you can to stay safe, hope you are not a target and carry on with your regular, normal life.
Data breaches and information theft is, sadly and ashamedly, something we must learn to live with. Fretting and worrying about cyber attacks and data loss will not change a single thing, but it will give your face wrinkles and make you look older sooner.
I first posted this on my other blog, ‘Further Ramblings’as it is not directly connected to writing, to which this blog is dedicated.
That said and after reading these words again it stuck me that most, if not all, who write will understand the the thoughts herin.
Therefore, I now post this here. Comments and feedback are, as always, welcome.
Thank you, Paul
There is far more to our personal dispositions than the simple ticking of our circadian clock. External influences abound. None more so, in my view than the diurnal effect of the sun and the moon, of light and dark.
While they are each autonomous in their distinct natures, each flow seamlessly into and from one another. A unified merging of opposing natural qualities.
The respective character of all, felt by our minds as their progress inexorably continues, thus affecting our moods and temperaments at any particular given time.
I for one have often been aware of such ethereal properties impacting on my senses. How time slows in the darkness of the early hours, the clock ticks visibly slower, the second hand creeping hesitantly onwards.
Late night cafés; unhurried, peaceful; the darkness smothering the world in its cloak of slumber, slowing all movement to a stumble.
Bus terminals, sitting, waiting under glowing industrial fluorescence, fighting to hold back the invading night. Time yawns and stretches towards dawn.
Early winter mornings, chill air and goosebumps. Sunlight, bright yet devoid of heat. Eyes still encrusted by the Sandman’s nocturnal visit as time begins to rouse itself; a new dawn.
The nights as we lay in the arms of a lover, wishing that this time could last forever and dreading the breaking of dawn.
These times are factors of circadian variation. All and more, separate yet connected, quotidian, diurnal, circadian. Influenced, induced, impelled. Time is not constant, time is respective, subjective and particular. Time is a substance, a distillate, a quintessence of our moods.
Yesterday, during the darkening hours we thought so.
Yet as the morning breaks once more, uncertainties arise with the sun. Such are our thoughts, our minds and the subconscious workings of deep cognative processes within ourselves.
We are not separate entities of individual consciousness, we are simply cogs; one single gear of many within the greater unity of encompassing life, affected by influences beyond that of our singular understanding.
This is a story my father used to tell me as a young child.
Way back then I had no idea that this story was his version of an Aesop’s fable.
I loved listening to him regale it over and again; although I had heard this story many times, it was not until I was about seven that I began to understand how the moral of the tale, or at least the basic message it carried, related to life.
My father has now been dead for over thirty five years, yet I still recall his voice when I think of the Wind & the Sun.
Moreover I am still learning the true extent of how the simple and basic message this story carries can affect every part of our lives, in work, play, socially, and in our domestic and love life relationships.
I will try my best to recount this tale as closely to my father’s recitation as I can recall, because I still prefer his version to that of Aesop!
Maybe you would too, if you could hear his voice as clearly I still do.
One day the Wind and the Sun were looking down upon the earth when they saw a man walking along a footpath.
‘Look at that man’ said the Wind, ‘I bet I can get his jacket off him quicker than you ’.
‘You think you can?’ answered the Sun.
‘Of course’ the Wind replied ‘because I am strong and powerful’.
‘Go on then’ said the Sun ‘let me see what you can do’.
So the Wind began to blow. As the Wind blew the man’s jacket flapped in the breeze. The Wind blew harder, whipping up clouds of dust and blowing the leaves from the trees.
The man buttoned his jacket, turned up his collar, lowered his head and continued walking.
Displeased with his efforts so far the Wind let a howling gale bellow over the ground. It was so forceful that the man had to fold his arms across his chest to stop his jacket from being blown off.
The Wind saw what the man was doing took a huge puff and let loose a tempest.
The man clutched his jacket tighter to himself, holding it firm with both hands.
Again and again the Wind blew and blew. The harder the Wind blew the tighter the man clung to his Jacket.
Eventually the Wind had puffed so hard for so long that he blew himself out.
The sun laughed and said to the Wind ‘Now it is my turn to try and get this man’s jacket off’.
So the Sun smiled and shone his gentle rays of warm sunlight upon the earth and upon the man.
The man took his hands from his jacket.
The Sun continued to smile and spread his warmth.
The man unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his tie.
After a while the man, bathed in the glorious heat from the sun, removed his jacket, slung it over his shoulder and began to whistle as he walked.
‘You see, Wind’ said the Sun, ‘you can accomplish far more by being gentle and giving than you can with brute force alone’.
.
I hope you enjoyed my father’s version of this story.
Many of you will be aware that I am (almost) at the publishing stage for a book I have been working on for a little over three years. The book is titled ‘Life in the Warzone’ it is about the effects that living in an area of conflict has on people, be they combatants or innocent civilians, even children.
During my research and interviews (from Sarajevo, Libya, Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine, Syria, and the Ukraine) I often come across essays, poems and other forms of accounts which expresses personal trauma.
Here is one such piece I would like to share with you.
This is not my work. I take no credit for these words.
It’s been a long walk home.
(Author unknown)
.
It’s been a long walk home, I’m almost there,
I see that flash, I hear that scream,
I’m right back there again,
lost in that same damn firefight,
It’s been forty years,
When will it end?
Every night it’s that same damn firefight,
We lost Sam and Bill,
Tag’em and bag’em,
we were told,
we’d never seen em again.
But every night, it’s their faces that I see,
and I ask myself why wasn’t it me,
my name should be etched in that cold black wall of stone,
It’s been a long walk home,
I’m almost there.
.
But I hear that chopper so near,
Raining tracers down,
Can’t they see us here?
Marine down, corpsman up,
But silence is all I hear.
Why am I the only one left,
Screaming GOD get me outta here?
It’s been forty years,
I still see that day,
We were almost there.
.
The edge of the jungle,
I see that flash, I hear that scream,
Tag’em n bag’em the list goes on,
To many to remember,
It was their last firefight.
I’m the only one left,
Lost and running looking for my way out.
It’s been a long walk home.
.
My family, don’t understand
When I say that this can’t be real
Just let me wake up one time and this not be,
But it’s that same damn firefight every night,
I wake up shaking like a leaf in the wind,
Tell’n my wife that it was just a chill,
Not that rage to kill,
But she sees it in my eyes,
That same damn firefight,
It’s been a long walk home, I’m almost there.
.
I was telling her good-bye,
When she realized I didn’t fear death anymore,
It was my life I was about to take,
She cried out for me to come out of that jungle, out into the daylight,
Think of the kids and what this would do,
She took me by the hand helping me make that first step,
Coming out of that jungle into the daylight,
It’s been a long walk home.
.
Forty years and I’m almost there,
I see that flash, I hear that scream,
but this time it’s a younger brother yelling out,
trying to find his way out into the daylight,
Out of that smoky fog of that same damn firefight,
It’s been forty years for me,
I see that flash, I hear that scream,
It’s their pain that I feel,
Knowing that this damn firefight is not real,
I’m here to help lead my younger brothers out,
Not to walk forty years as I,
Lost in that same damn firefight of PTSD!
If you would like to know more about my forthcoming book ‘Life in the Warzone’ please visit my website and look on the ‘works in progress’ page. http://paulznewpostbox.wix.com/paul-white
I find the dull metallic hum, as the train pulls away from the harsh glow of neon lights on the station platform, somewhat comforting in its reassurance. As is entering the dark cavern of the subway tunnel whilst cocooned in the dim warmth of the vibrating carriage.
Once again the familiar tempo of steel wheels upon the rails, and the irregular rocking as the train rumbles along, calms the customary angst which always seemed too accompany me in hectic, overcrowded places.
Seated comfortably, time slows. Harmony descends upon me like a cloak of serene velvet. I sigh out loudly, a liberated wisp of disquiet flutters away, disappearing into the ether.
Unbuttoning my coat and flicking the hood from my head, I leaned back stretching my weary legs out in front of me. The carriage is empty. I am alone. Peace and calm descend.
At this time of night the subway takes on a different form, its very structure becomes prominent. Vibrations resound in every wall, wafts of cool air frequently gust throughout; inhale, exhale, the subway breathes deeply. Recurrent metallic taps echo from the depths of the black underpasses in harmony with those rustling organic whispers. It is as if the subway comes to life, wakens as an entity in itself.
I love the subway at this time of night, which is why I like to take the late train home. I can relax.
I like to stare through the glass, trying to make out what the indistinct passing shapes that flash by actually are. Long, thick wires twist together, hanging in sooty swags from the tunnel walls, like massive black anacondas awaiting unsuspecting prey. The occasional light, dulled by a layer of caked on grime, giant fireflies? And dark recesses, small arches sunken into the curvature of the walls. What lays within? Possibly a door, a secrete door to another world, a parallel universe?
Then there is the reflection, my reflection, eerily unfocused, staring back at me from the darkened window pane. But is that me? I think not. Looking I see the reflection has a smirk on his face, he is hiding his knowledge of me, or a secret. He has the answers I seek. The answers I have spent my whole life trying to find. He smiles before fading away as the train enters a brightly lit station.
These are my fantasies, my late night daydreams as I travel home. This is where my reality and illusion merge, where imagination and invention combine.
As we age we amass many life skills; some taught to us by teachers, lecturers, professors and our parents, some self-learned by patient practice and repetition, while most such lessons are thrust into our consciousness simply by the pure events of living life itself; births, love, passion, loss, hurt, pain, grief and death.
At some point, during the period betwixt being born and gasping our last breath, we have also, hopefully, gained some wisdom.
Although only too often, such wisdom is realised and recognised far too late in life for us to use it in any true and meaningful way, such as the cruel nature of growing older.
However, for those who manage to avoid a premature departure from this world, those who never got hit by lightning or run over by a trolley bus, become in some respect like a soggy sponge! Yes we droop and some often uncontrollably leak and dribble I am sure, but the analogy I was trying to draw was one of absorption and storage.
I know for a fact that I know more than I know I know, even if in that knowledge there is the realisation of knowing that one knows nothing.
With that stated clearly I will return to the train of thought which initiated my fingers to start tapping away today; that is, that within these southerly wilting, rather wrinkly, fading bodies which those ‘of a certain age’ seem to acquire, for the majority of us at least, are still our sprightly, lively young minds that have seldom aged beyond fifteen…or maybe (for legal reasons) that should read eighteen!
Now….these minds of ours need a little control. You see they tend too often fool us by considering that whatever they think that we, (those of us who are over 40 something…{no not waist size}…years of being alive), still have the physical ability to achieve such things as skateboarding, zip-lining, mountaineering and even imbibing in a large amount of alcoholic beverages and awaking in the morning with a clear head….hummph….I wish.
The reason that our minds ignore our creaking joints, throbbing tendons, scar tissues that pull as taught as an elastic band every time we move like this…ouch….I should not have done that! Is that once-upon-a-time we have done all of those things, once-upon-a-time when that same mind was in its infancy and knew nothing of risk or fear, that mind which we (mostly) protected from going too far; well far too far, too often.
Now during all those life-threatening adventures, (those naughty and dangerous liaisons, the arguments and battles, the fights and flights that our immature brains took us on), we collected lots and lots of information, comprehension, realisation, skills and familiarity.
In other words, we gained awareness, understanding and experience, this is how we became educated and intelligent, and this is what gives us an erudition of life. This is what we loosely and casually refer to as wisdom and knowledge.
These are the life skills one collects in the only way possible, by living over a long period of time, or at least the longest period that time allows our weak and feeble bodies to function. Gladly, but tinged with some forms of sadly, mine is doing…..okay….at this moment.
You see I have out-lived many thousands of others over the years I have been walking upon this earth, (which I can still do….unaided). I am glad that I saw the sunrise this morning, the sad is that many did not.
Over the preceding years, many of those who never got to see the sunlight today are a whole host of friends and family, many older than I, many younger. Worst of all some had only minutes of life with which we could chart their age.
The fact is, that the number of people who are older than I is quickly diminishing. Now my mourning’s are frequently for those of my own generation, a generation who should use the life skills and knowledge that they have acquired to help and nurture those who are young enough and fortunate enough to have one of those minds which believes it is protected by an invincible body, such as our own did all those years past.
All that we have learned by events of life and living; those births we have witnessed, our loves, both lost and lasting. The passionate moments, some intimate, comprised of twisting limbs and thrusting loins, others of the soul; music, art, theatre, dreams and scenes, vistas of natural beauty. The recollection of our times of loss, of hurt, of feeling pain; both physical and of the heart, not forgetting the grief and deaths.
This is our accumulated wisdom.
This is what we should share, what we should endeavour to teach our children and their children.
‘Ahh’, I hear you say, but children do not listen, do not take heed, so it is best to leave them to find their own way.
I do not disagree.
However, (which is a nicer way to say but, because there is always a but)! If we share our knowledge, leave it somewhere our future generations can discover it for themselves, then they will learn, or at least hopefully be guided by that which we have spent a lifetime accumulating.
This is why I believe I have a duty to leave my own thoughts behind me when I have gone when I have shuffled from this mortal coil.
No one can teach from our personal experiences as we ourselves can.
This is why I choose to write. Even within the lines of my fiction, on the pages of my fantasies, are woven the truths of life and the facts of living.
The words within my books and short stories are my bequest to the world, to a future I cannot be a part of, at least in person.
I chose to be a writer, not for monetary wealth or recognition, but to leave a legacy beyond the simplistic value of personal greed.
My wish is that my words are read by the generations yet to come.
Maybe then my life will not have been lived in vain.
It may come as a bit of a surprise, (to those of you who know that I have written the most explicit adult erotic book ever, ‘Red Satin’), that I think the dirtiest word is one which has absolutely nothing to do with sex, sexuality, licentiousness, or swearing.
For those who are more familiar with my mainstream Novels the shock will not be quite so great, I am sure.
That said I am certain that I shall have to explain why I have chosen the word ‘Conventional‘ as the worst word in the English language.
I will start by saying that we all, or at least a great many of us, like to think that we are unique individuals, a bit off beat, a little crazy, even wacky at times, but the truth the majority of people, and that most probably includes you, are not.
I agree that we all have moments where we do things that we, or our friends, may consider stupid, out of character, or down right idiotic.
Sometimes we embarrass ourselves in public, sometimes we regret certain acts that we perform, but this is not unique, crazy or out of the ordinary. Far from it in fact, it is ‘normal‘ behaviour, behaviour that is accepted as pretty much standard in our modern society and therefor it is conventional.
Some of you, I am sure, are already rebelling at my last statement, how dare I call you, of even begin to describe your last act of stupidity, as conventional?
I am glad you are thinking like that, because this is one of the reasons I dislike this word, just as you are now beginning to do now.
That said, I have just scratched the surface of my reasons, so I shall continue with my explanation while you muse over the quandary of being, or not, a conventional conformist.
conventional
kənˈvɛnʃ(ə)n(ə)l/ Submit adjective
based on or in accordance with what is generally done or believed.
The next point I will examine is why, if you are so bloody special, do you then conform to societies conventional practices?
When you had your last job interview how wild and wacky were you then?
I bet you presented yourself as a very straight laced conventional human being in that instance, am I right?
When did you last go to eat in a restaurant wearing only underwear belonging to the opposite sex?
My bet is never………………my point, well my point is that to have done either of those things is considered, by current convention, wrong.
You would not have got the position you wanted if the interviewers did not consider your mental state within conventionally accepted boundaries.
Chances are you would not have been allowed entry into the restaurant, maybe even been arrested for indecent exposure in a public place!
My point has two distinct facets, one is that of financial gain/loss.
Having control over our personal income is one way we are conditioned to accept convention. The government, banking and financial institutions use fiscal policy to keep the general public, including you, under control and help to ensure that we work within the conventional framework they have engineered.
That is why you acted so meekly at that interview.
The second facet is peer pressure.
As those about us, including family, friends, colleagues and associates have been conditioned by the state, and the media, to accept what they wish us to believe is ‘normal‘ or ‘regular‘ behaviour, the threat of losing our status among our peers is often greater than the loss itself.
This social pressure is also present in the second of the scenarios outlined. Loosing friends, or their respect, just because you wanted to eat sushi while dancing naked in the civic fountain may be appealing for your inner wish to be free, but under the domination of conventional social interactivity it is a no no!
The Law, be it enforced by local authorities, state or county police, is just another control over our freedoms and liberties that give the majority of us no option but to follow the demands of this infectious and deliberating virus termed convention.
Are you beginning now to see why I think this word is bad, or to be honest, why this words definition is dirty?
So what of those / us who defy convention?
Hobo’s, dropouts, weirdo’s, perverts, hippies, off their rockers, crazies, are all names I have heard people, and that means you too, call those that have raised two fingers to convention. You know, the people who acted the way you wished you had the courage to act.
OK, so sometimes one of these names may be correctly applied to a certain individual, but then that individual is not one of the ones I am referring to here.
Here I am speaking about intelligent civilised human beings who by conscious effort, situation or downright fortune, (good or bad), have elected to disassociate themselves as much from conventional life as is possible. I say possible because even those who withdraw far away from society are still, inevitably, affected by the modern world in some degree, at some point.
However the majority of those /us who choose alternative lifestyles are not looking to turn our backs on everyday life, and not looking to hide away from social contact.
While we seek to live our lives in association with others with the same, or similar mind-set. We will blend in with the ordinary ‘vanilla’ folks on the street, we act and intermingle with you, and yet hold a key to a world where riches and dreams are the freedoms and expressions of the mind, body, soul, and spirit.
It is a world which when found, few wish to leave. This is true uniqueness, true individuality of character, (and not just occasionally singing out of key during a drunken stumble home on a wet and rainy night).
Conventional means living under the will of those that control society, this is why I think that conventional is a dirty and disgusting word.
But like many writers, it is in these ‘wee hours’ that our minds race, that our thoughts begin to gel into some recognisable form of understanding. Thoughts that we must ‘get down on paper’ NOW.
Not later. Later is no good.
By later the concepts, the feelings, the ideas will have shrivelled like the skin of a rotting fruit. No longer will these ideas have the shiny skin of freshness. No longer will each sentence be sweet with the flowing fructose of conception. So now is the time to allow our words to freely spill onto those blank pages, pages of lingering anticipation.
By sunrise, sleep has yet again passed us by. Another coffee and a cool shower invigorates, just enough to face the daylight hours which queue before us, clambering for our attention, calling us to deal with the mundane tasks of reality, the chores of daily living.
Distracted our thoughts, our fantasies and whimsies sink into the subconscious. Some hide in the darker shadows, others play truant, while many are lost forever. Those dark hours, the late nights and early mornings are the vampiric lairs of the writer.
Sunrise brings only loss of procession, a stilling of conscious reasoning, a slowing of creativity. Staggering along throughout the day we long for the sun to set, look towards the dusk with wistful eyes, longing for the darkness to envelop once us once more, to fold us in its soft cloak of imagination.
Because here in the quiet, in the still of the night, is where the bats of illusion flit freely in the caverns of our minds. All that is witnessed, touched, seen, tasted and heard during the day is fired in the cauldron of concept and fantastical prophecy. This is the time when mystical worlds are created from a scattering of magical runes and symbols we call letters.
Twenty Six tiny marks which have the power to enter the mind and take control of whoever is reading, whisking reality away and replacing it with netherworld where all is possible and perception an illusion.
Yet it takes a mighty wizard of the quill to cast such formidable spells from so few tiny symbols. The craft of wordsmithing is often a lonely and long journey through the forests of despair and foreboding.
Yet when the daylight of publication looms bright, the rewards of satisfaction bring the cost of toiling through those darkest of late nights, the journey of self-doubt and inner loathing, well worth the pain and agony’s suffered.
The price can be high, but the rewards glorious.
Thank you for walking through the forests with me tonight, Paul.
.
While you are here why not grab a copy of the award-winning Dark Words, You can find it on Amazon UKhttps://amzn.to/2GOuHq0
tiny marks which have the power to enter the mind and take control of whoever is reading, whisking reality away and replacing it with netherworld where all is possible and perception an illusion.
Ramblings from a Writer's Mind 