#WritingWednesday: Simultaneous Submissions
When you give in and let go because you know the journey you’re on is bigger than your ego
Hey #BeautifulSouls,
Now, you’re probably wondering about the title of this week’s post. Hopefully, as I chatter, you’ll see I’m not on my journey alone. Let me explain…
This week, I want to talk about having dedication to your craft.
R&B artist Kehlani (a personal favourite of mine) just took home her first two golden gramophones on Sunday night for her monster of a smash hit song, ‘Folded.’ Although she’s been on the music scene since around 2011 (as far as I’m aware), she didn’t really come out as a solo artist until 2013. She wasn’t nominated for her first GRAMMY until three years later, and it’s only a decade later that she’s winning her first two.
Without attempting to seem arrogant, her journey reminded me a lot of my own. I started blogging in 2009, if I remember correctly, then I decided I should probably try writing a bit more than reviews, interviews and press kits if I was going to call myself a writer.
At the advice of a friend, I wrote down a traumatic experience in 2016 and, on reading it, they asked me if I considered writing more, and maybe turning it into a book, and voilà, my memoir was born.
Five years later, I discovered London Writers Salon, and the routine of meeting four times per weekday was enough to spur me into finishing the first draft of my memoir five months later. I put editing the second half of the project on the back burner when a cause I felt was more important came along, and a new piece of writing took centre stage.
Now, I am determined to tell the stories of fourteen characters, most of whom interact during the course of two days; they all suffer with the same condition in its many forms, and my goal is for it help spread knowledge of that condition, Fibromyalgia, to as many as possible.
When I’m not working on my second manuscript, I’m trying to better my skills as a writer by taking as many courses and workshops as possible – after all, someone is still giving Stevie Wonder vocal lessons; if there’s still skills for him to learn, then I, my friends, will never be done learning.
And my other means of improving is to write as much as possible and submit to as many competitions and literary magazines as I physically can. It’s taken me nearly five years, but I finally won my first competition towards the end of last year, at a time when I was secretly wondering whether it was time to give up on the idea of being an authoress.
A few nights ago, the question came up of how many times I’ve been published in anthologies, and the answer I initially gave turned out to be wrong, I had forgotten several. Then my dad and I got into conversation as we tried to work it out (the answer is somewhere around 9, with 6 pieces of work published online).
The reason I’m running down my writing CV like this is because giving up last year would’ve been the easy way out, and it would’ve been a cop out on my part, so I’m glad I didn’t! If anything, my win made me recommit to my writing more deeply.
What cemented my devotion to my craft more than anything though, was the feedback I received from my favourite teacher recently; he told me, amongst other things, I’ve made strides in my capabilities. He last saw a piece of my writing in November, shortly before my win, so if I’ve made strides in that short time, what will I be doing three months from now? Six months from now? A year?
Here’s the very first piece of flash fiction I ever wrote, back in 2021, when I had even less of an idea what I’m doing than now. I didn’t know it existed before this, and I only guessed at what I was doing. I didn’t even give it a proper title, because I didn’t know you were supposed to!
Science vs. Art
“What came first, the chicken or the egg?” He asked casually, as they sat over an al fresco brunch on a sunny June afternoon. “What?” She asked, more focused on the dessert menu. “Chicken or egg, which came first?” He repeated, tucking into his boiled egg with a toasted soldier.
She looked up at him and thought for a moment. “I don’t think that’s the right question.” She stated matter of factly. He looked at her inquisitively, eager to hear her argument. “The question should be does the science in the process come before the beauty in the art of the entire experience?” He pondered her words for a moment, unsure that he fully grasped her concept. She saw the confusion he was trying hard to mask.
“If the scientific process of the chicken creating the egg came first, then where did the inspiration for the art in the chicken’s creation come from?” The light of understanding shone deeply in his eyes. “I see where you’re coming from.” He answered, nodding his head slowly for emphasis as he stared down at his egg in contemplation.
“There’s beauty in nature, and nature is art…” She said, stirring the whipped cream and sprinkles into her hot chocolate before taking a tentative sip. “And it works both ways!” He said animatedly, as if the idea were his all along. “Because nature is science in action,” he continued, as she watched his blonde, wavy hair with a touch of curl rouse gently in the breeze. “Anything beautiful is art to me,” she said, shyly staring at his perfectly chiselled features. She thought about her own slightly rounded chin and hoped to Heaven he wouldn’t notice it’s double.
He stared back at her intently, slowly taking in her beautifully framed, round brown face, surrounded by glossy black curls tinted hot pink. Most would think it a garish combination, but with her skin tone, the colour only complimented and enhanced her beauty. She had cocoa brown, almond-shaped eyes, with long black lashes. Her button nose wrinkled when she was deep in thought, and her full lips broke into the most adorably beautiful smile, that spread across her whole face when you really made her laugh. Every time she did, he felt a little giddy and lightheaded. She was intoxicating and he wanted to see her heart-shaped smile for as long as he could keep it there.
For her, she still didn’t understand what he was doing there with her? He was Mr Popular, he had no business with the likes of nerdy her. Cerulean eyes like his were not ten-a-penny. She got butterflies when he stared her way, he could’ve been a painting, or a carving, something formed in clay or marble. She wondered if she could make an impression, both on him, and of him. She felt a blush creep up her neck, and so she looked away shyly.
She looked back to find him sketching her and decided - their chemistry was Art.
This one is from two-and-a-half years later, and I hope you can see some progression?
Sky Diamonds
Her only means of finding her way through the forest she was lost in, was to follow the stars twinkling above her. She ran as fast as she could with only one shoe on; whatever that was back there had pulled off her other plimsole when she kicked at it. Cadence must’ve cut her foot a hundred times over on all the twigs, rocks, and whatever else she had landed on with each tread.
She couldn’t allow it to slow her down though, she had to keep going if she was going to make it out of this alive; something Cadence wasn’t feeling too sure of at the present time. She didn’t know if any of her friends from the cabin made it past that killing machine she saw devouring bodies when she came round. It had taken everything she had not to scream when she realised the weight crushing her were other bodies.
She had been at the bottom of the pile, hair and blood matted and congealing on her face. Unsure of what had knocked her out, Cadence waited for the thing to leave the room, which appeared to be some sort of dungeon from what she could see through thin slivers of space between limbs and torsos on top of her. Once it closed the door, Cadence began pushing her way through the heavy corpses, horrified at the state of the bodies, some missing limbs, sporting large crevices where chunks of them were oozing from cavities.
Others had clearly been there a while and had maggots feeding on the open wounds of the carcasses. The stench was like nothing she had ever experienced, so rank, it took everything she had not to retch. The only exit appeared to be up a flight of old, wooden stairs behind the pile of bodies. She wouldn’t be able to get to it without climbing over the poor victims cascaded like rubbish at her feet.
As she surveyed the pile, she recognised the tattoo she saw on the wrist of one of the bodies, it belonged to her best friend Meghan. She tentatively pulled the blonde hair back from her face, knowing before she even reached out who was beneath it when she saw her grey-blue eyes stare back at her glassily, and lifeless.
Instantly, Cadence crumpled, trying as hard as she could to hold back a scream, but the strangled noise was enough to alert the thing something was going on. She had no choice, if she didn’t want to end up back in the pile in front of her, she was going to have to climb over the dead, including her most trusted confidante since the age of 5 years old.
Cadence gingerly put one foot onto someone’s back, then another person’s arm, and someone else’s head. All felt soft, almost like squelching pulp. She barely felt any bones beneath her feet, which was probably the most disconcerting thing, as it felt like walking on mush. She felt vomit shoot into the back of her throat, unable to stop it from being projectile, and found herself throwing up as she reached the bottom step of the staircase.
As she tried to run up the flight of stairs, she heard the thing return, growling angrily. It crossed the room quickly and grabbed at her left foot with a cold leathery hand. She kicked at it, and her plimsole came off in the process. She had no intention of going back just to retrieve her shoe, so continued up the stairs, finding herself in the pantry of the cabin in the woods she and five of her friends rented for the weekend.
Cadence ran to the living room where the front door was but could hear the creature moving through the bowels of the place, getting closer. The door had been bolted and was almost jammed into place. Scanning the room quickly, she grabbed a poker from the fireplace and used it to knock the bolt up out of the lock. She wrenched the door open and ran outside.
Realising she had no idea which direction she needed go in to run back to town, Cadence looked up to the sky for guidance from the twinkling stars. Before she had properly gauged a plan, the thing appeared, whom she now saw was dressed in some kind of a mask with a slit for its mouth, a boiler suit, and boots, all stained and smeared with what looked like blood. It made some kind of growling noise as it came running into the living room of the cabin.
Cadence took off into the woods which was when she felt those first twigs and rocks cut her bare foot. She tried not to let it slow her down, because as fast as she tried to run, she could still hear the thing making its hideous groan in the dark. She picked one star in the sky; it looked the most like a diamond, and she decided to follow it. She sometimes lost track of it as the taller trees obscured it from view, but overall, she was able to keep to what she thought was some kind of route by following it.
Up above the world so high, that diamond sparkled like the brightest solitaire. But it wasn’t enough to save her. Cadence ran smack bang into the thing she wasn’t sure was human, no matter its shape, rebounding off of its chest. Though she kept the poker she had used to pry open the bolted door, she dropped it on impact and now couldn’t find it in the dark.
The last thing Cadence saw was the creature block out the twinkling stars as he smashed in her skull with its bare hands.
And this one is from last year. I hope the last two show a clear trajectory that’s climbing, because I’d like to believe I’m honing my talent, but only you, my dear readers, can be the judge of that.
The Proverbial Aunt
Ren held still, not wanting to interrupt his goddess of a roommate and best friend as she lay on his chest.
‘I asked him what he meant, he said he wasn’t sure he wanted us anymore.’
Even her heartbeat felt broken as she hiccupped quietly, and he began to feel a damp patch on his vest. Devon was crazy not to want to marry Akari, father her children, and give his last breath for her – you would never have to ask him twice. Shit, you would never have to ask him at all, Ren would be glad to have her – he’d be honoured.
He looked at the top of her head, took a deep breath and lifted her chin until their eyes met.
‘Any man who treats you one ounce less than the breathtaking creature you are, doesn’t deserve to breathe your air. We’ve known each other since you poured milk in my lap for trying to hold your hand when we were 4 years old, you know I wouldn’t lie to you.
You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, if you were mine, I would never give you a reason to question me, or my love. I would never hurt you, disrespect you, never turn my back on you or us.’
Then he kissed her; her lips were even softer than he imagined. She was his undoing, and before he knew it, he was lost in her body. She was like nothing he had ever felt; she was all he wanted, forever. So, he was caught off guard when she began to cry. He wiped her tears with his thumbs as she lay beneath him.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘We shouldn’t be doing this, I don’t want to be one of the women on your conveyor belt. You sleep with more women than I have breaths in my body, you can’t commit!’
‘Why do you think I don’t stay with any of them? They’re not you – you had to know how I’ve felt all of these years?’
‘When I looked into her eyes, I thought she saw how I felt, because she kissed me, but when I woke up this morning, she was gone. I tried calling her, but she didn’t answer. What do I do Aunty, should I give up?’
Ren’s aunt listened to her nephew without interruption. He relished his favourite Aunty; he could talk to her about anything, and she kept his confidence, without judging him.
Emi told him, ‘Spilled water won’t go back in its tray. She knows your heart, finally. But dripping water wears away stone. Keep proving your stability. Show her why she should take you seriously as a suitor, because even dust, when piled, will become a mountain. She will not be able to deny the solidity of your devotion.’
‘I don’t know aunty, I think she regrets what happened.’
‘She will come back. Go, find her, prove yourself.’
Ren let his aunty rush him out her door, locking it behind him.
Irrespective of a climb, the point I’m trying to emphasise, is you don’t just immediately become good at something you decide on as a craft – at least most people don’t, anyway. It takes dedication to the thing you want to excel in. It took both Kehlani and I over a decade to receive recognition for our work, but it doesn’t mean we’ve reached the pinnacle of what we can do – far from it!
If anything, the pressure is on to do better than we did at every opportunity, bringing me to my #RegularRhyme (new technical term) for this week. Seasoned readers will know I cannot bring myself to call them poems but rhymes I can just about handle on a monthly basis, making them regular, right?! Here goes:
The Current
It seems so long ago since I first decided to pick up my pen,
And I could never have known the journey that was to befall me then;
Because honestly, I think if I had known then, I would never even have started,
But now I’m well down this road, too far for wisdom to be imparted –
To the naïve young lady who thought she knew all,
And certainly no-one could’ve warned her pride cometh before a fall.
But in the grand scheme of things, all worked out exactly as it should,
I followed my heart and it lead me straight to what would,
Become the dream that envelopes every fibre of my soul,
The one that keeps me up at night until I’ve put words down with that same pen,
Til I’ve emptied the words that consume my soul and brings me peace all over again.
And that folks, as they say, is that!
Thank you for keeping me comfortable through this bumper edition of #WritingWednesday! Meet me back here in a month for the next edition, BUT, if you cannot wait that long, and want to catchup in an extra special bonus edition of #LifeIn3D (Disabled Diva Diaries), then keep an eye on your inbox in a week’s time, because you never know what you might find…Oh my word, now I cannot stop rhyming. Thank the Good Lord this is the end, it’s incredible timing.
Until the next…🤓✍🏾📖
ES😘❤️