The Lonesome Road is on sale!

My first book, the Lonesome Road is on sale at Amazon for a limited time! If you are looking for a great gift or perhaps a new read for yourself I recommend this gripping tale of mystery, where you will not see the answers that lay directly in front, with the twists and turns, this tale will surprise you. Other versions are on sale as well.

🇬🇧https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/1990158226/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1667564728&sr=8-11
🇺🇸https://www.amazon.com/dp/1990158226?&linkCode=sl1&tag=5310pub0d-20&linkId=29cdbed4ccc8b6b0ca2e7ce900567c47&language=en_US&ref_=as_li_ss_tl
🇨🇦https://www.amazon.ca/dp/1990158226?&linkCode=sl1&tag=5310pub04-20&linkId=8e83de62e1ee5d17b7a7e3ef7cc5ded5&language=en_CA&ref_=as_li_ss_tl
🇦🇺https://www.amazon.com.au/Lonesome-Road-Harisson-Shaws/dp/1990158226/

Looking for the last remains of human life, a lonesome wanderer must find his identity and the reason for his journey.

The fallen Earth holds secrets, an ancient war that will show him he is not alone. With old forgotten feelings of mistrust and sorrow, the Wanderer will have to navigate his path and remember his past.

The journey is long, filled with thorns and friendly people with hidden agendas. And unfortunately, not all have his best interest at heart.

The Wanderer will have to stay neutral and true to his path if he wants to uncover the truth. But all things come with a price, and the cost might be his soul.


—–

Life as we know is gone. The once vivid city now stands abandoned. Earth became a wasteland, stripped of all life. Broken, confused, and in a desperate search for answers, one person still roams its desolate remains.

The Wanderer has no memories, no recollection of the events that led to the end of the world. All he sees are deserted buildings and the smoke that covers the sun.

While taking shelter in an abandoned house one night, the last man on Earth gets a knock on his door. He finds an unexpected guide in a woman who feels familiar.

Will he choose to keep traversing these lands, lost as before, or will he take her guidance to find the answers his heart so deeply desires?

The price of dreams

Hello. It’s me. Been a while. This feels awkward. You know, same as seeing an ex at a party or a social gathering and you never knew they gonna be there now you are in a situation to talk after few months? Yea… How you’ve been? All jokes aside it is good once again to write a few lines, even though as I do, I am struggling to find my way around words that need to be said and want to be written. I always had my patches of absence, so to speak, but now I stand in front of you, with my head bowed down in shame, as I have been away for some time. What was it this time? What excuse could I possibly possess that would make my actions of absence valid you might ask? Was it depression again? In part yes, even if I feel sick of using it again and again as my crutch whenever I go away. Was I busy? Most definitely, as my day job took me away more then it has in the past few years, working all day every day even after summer which never happened. But truth be told, as I am standing now in front of you, the few that reads these lines, I have no excuse. I fell in a hole, a familiar place of darkness that felt oh so comfortable, so well known, as it embraced me in its arms, I felt my dark thoughts weeping with me. A familiar friend, from a familiar life I never could escape. But it’s not all that grim. These past few months came with moments of joy, moments of happiness that I was not accustomed to. It is still a strange sensation, to feel good things happening to me. You can not shake that corrosive emotion that with every good deed, every benevolent moment you experience, that you are owing it to someone, as a debt of a loan shark, your mind never stops trembling in fear that someone will come to collect what it’s due. But disregard the ill feeling of dread, ignore the depression that always hangs with me in the corner of my mind, you would have to admit that at the end of the day I left. No matter how valid an excuse, the fact is I need one, means I failed, mostly myself.

So many paths, so many roads to take



That’s how I felt. Like I see roads and paths that stretch as far as the eye can see, me with my confused and dazed expression not knowing which one to take, as the night, heavy as iron, was slowly but surely coming down, warning my soul and lost heart to make up my mind, as I could not stand there forever pondering on the choice that needed to be made. I always felt in some sort of way in that situation, but now it was different. The stakes, the risks, even life itself, started to feel real. Each choice that could brush life, that could strike the heart, be it with joy or terror, lost its allure of romantic slumber that a dream carried and now I found myself in reality of life. That reality slowly chipped my heart away…

I tried a lot of things in life. As a piece of puzzle, I looked for my place to fit in. Years of rejection and trying passed by, until I remembered a passion of a childhood, until my mind became heavy with dark thoughts that seeped through and cracked my brain, leaving permanent scars. It’s been now maybe 4 or 5 years give or take when I attempted to write, a journey in which perhaps I do not have much to show for, but looking back now I, for the first time in my life with certainty and calm heart can say, found my place, my purpose, my fate. In 4 years I written 3 books, hundreds of poems and shit ton of post, mostly talking about my experience with mental health and life that reached hundreds and found themselves in my words and experience. Should I be proud on the progress I made? Surely, and I am, I’ve proven countless of times that I am more then capable of doing this. But generally? I doubt. And how could I not? I worked for almost 10 years jobs that drained my soul, broke my back and mind thinking I was worthless and with the life I lived I tried to live it convincing myself it was true, that that’s the best life can get and that I do not deserve anything better. It took years and lot of talk to convince myself that I can and should do better. In life, as a person. The struggle was real and it’s still ongoing. But now, perhaps more then ever, it’s reaching a pinnacle. Even though I made enough, as I would like to put it, in my 4 years as a writer, still it is not enough for me to keep doing only what I love. I am at a crossroads. Switching countries means I need to find a steady source of income, even if it is putting myself in that position I was for almost 10 years. For the majority of my life I lacked ambition, be it from a mind that prevented and prohibited me to feel joy and satisfaction as I thought I was not worthy of it, be it from a surrounding that I grew up in that made me feel like I had it good where I was and should not strive for more as I might be disappointed, I’ve always struggled to find a path in life and convincing myself I was worthy of it. But writing, ignited a passion that was lost, that I never thought I possessed. It was so much more then just a career path I wished to actually fight for. It was an escape from depression, a ladder that made me climb out of that dark pit I dug out myself, it was belief and hope that I could actually be something and someone more then I was, a way to offer something to the world that would make me worthy of living. And with that new found hope, came fear. After finding something I never thought to gain, came the realisation of what if I am not good enough, what if I was fooling myself into thinking I could actually do this, as perhaps this was just one of my many foolish and failed attempts that would end up in only one way.

Now I stand before you, the few of my many, with a small comeback to these lands of the written word, perhaps no stronger then ever, but more eager to prove my worth. After 8 long years, I will be quitting my job, moving away and will try my best to grab that piece of happiness everyone is mumbling about how good it is. I am curious myself to see if there is some left for me. It has been so long since I dared. Since I made myself live life. I mustered the strength to find out, am I really worth living. As I know, better then most, staying in one place, satisfying yourself with the bare minimum, is not living. As your soul slowly grows dark and the hope and ambitions become a distant wish and memory, you find staying, is just a slow death.

Stagnation is the great life killer.

Worthy of the word



What really defines our own worth? That’s the question I keep asking myself. Is it the deeds we do? Or perhaps how good of a life we live? For most of my life, looking at the mirror I do not recognise the reflection gazing back at me. I do not know the name of that man who’s eyes look like mine, as he feels familiar, yet unknown. I know who I want to be, what I want to do, yet the path of how to do it is unclear. After every major project I make, the first thing that sets in are not the high five’s of well done, neither are the words of encouragement, but thoughts of doubt as why did I make it in the first place, or did I just create a thing no one would even see. To most of you, who dare to create, the natural thought occurs if it will be liked or hated perhaps, while in my mind a single fear exists – to be forgotten. Even now, while the sun is about to rise, writing these words to you, I ask myself, to what end? Do these words matter, do they reach any lone hearts such as mine? Sure, you would say as long as it matters to you, and I understand that premise all so well. But my dear reader, I’ve spent my life talking, masking common words with pretentious lies, cloaked into cheep clothes of intelligence. I, which is weird for a writer, am done with words. Not in a sense of writing, creating, no. But out of fear that whatever I say may be born as an excuse. So what is left? I ask myself the very question, fighting each and every thought that dares to rise, making my mind well awake for days, as sleep is not yet deserved. To take that leap of faith? To jump and trust my instincts, not the rationality of fear? How good it sounds, simple yet complex, as I stand on the crossroads of time, not knowing is my fate right or left.



I admit, I wanted to come here, write something, anything. But with fear that my mind carries too heavy of a burden right now, I stayed back, looking from a distance, wishing for an opportunity. It is this, the lack of dream, that brings me towards you. Broken? As always. Dismayed? Oh please, that’s my natural state, if nothing is wrong I worry why it isn’t. Defeated? Well, no. No. I have been defeated before. Broken time and time again, by my foolish choices, by the depression that held me and the anxiety that shouted I can not do more or better. As a man who lost not all, put plenty, before, now I stand in front of you and ask how can I be defeated? For I wished death before, cursed life to end, now wanting to live, I find it hard living. I have my vision. What to do, what I want to achieve. Perhaps it is not in my destiny, to become more then I was, perhaps I too shall fade, with this new found dawn that I now wait, maybe obscurity is what waits down there in the end. But what can I do? I poured my life, my soul and beating heart to the pieces that were created, few have seen and I still do not know what to think of what am I capable to do. Maybe it is doubt, the all living shadow, that brings me down, or perhaps I think too much, one thing is certain. Defeat, until the heart beats, is an illusion. As long there is breath in my lungs, there will be the will to fight.

For now I retreat, for now I rest, as the dawn rises, I shall greet her properly. And then once again, lay my head down, hoping, that somehow I still am invited to the land of dreams.

For you, the few, yet the many, thank you. For the support here and in general, I hope I muster enough strength to continue to come back quickly, hoping this hiatus was just an anomaly. Till then, keep your head up high, your heart beating true. And never give up on what was dreamt.


Your forever dreamer,
Harry.

POW: The red pill of sight

We all saw the Matrix, right? Neo gets offered two pills, one let’s him stay in this world, sleeping the sweet somber dream of illusion that was installed, never the wiser of what goes above. But take the red pill and all the illusions shall be shattered, the eyes that were deep asleep shall be wide open and he will be granted the sight to see the world for what it truly is. Recently, as I embark on a life changing journey, trying to move countries and jobs, I started to realise and see things. For the longest time I felt worthless, as in my years I achieved almost nothing, the environment always saw me as incapable and clumsy, constantly reminding me that I can’t do the most simplest of tasks. But as I plan and prepare to leave, I am starting to see that environment I was brought up in. In this case that same environment will be my family, especially my old man who always had an advice even when I would do something good, but as soon as I saw something that he did that is not in any sense good, I was chewed up as what do I know. My family made mistakes, whole lot of them, leaving us in financial ruin. I don’t hold that against them, we all make some bad decisions during our life. But what I do hold, is their incapability of change. Even after what was done, no one can move from the past as they put it, they don’t have any regret. So it beggs the question, the nature versus nurture, as I slowly started rolling the film backwards, how much does our environment affect our upbringing or even more so what does it take to rise above the toxicity of constant strain of thought that is pushed on to us that we are just simply worthless?

To rise above the tide



We all at least once get into contact with it. Be it our own family, friends or even a stranger, the walls that are around us can be brought up. If we are told constantly, with every action we take, that we are worthless and insignificant, can we really rise above the words we hear every day? One thing I found was you can simply sit down with yourself and realise that the people who speak such things are not important, their opinions are invalid, but the sad truth of it is hearing it every day makes it harder for us to attach some insignificance to their muffled insults. But as I said, I am more and more thinking about the past, ever so willing to change for the better, I start to realise one big thing. Those people who speak such vile things never accept change, they are adamant to stay in their lane, never truly accepting that they are capable of being wrong or even worse, they are proud of the mistakes made. Slowly you will realise that over the course of their life, they never amounted to anything, making their frustrations that they pull on you seem even more miserable. I am starting to see, the opinions of people who don’t dare to admit that their hearts were at a wrong place should not hold any value when it comes to words, as they are just that, empty words and promises, people who don’t dare to take actions as they see themselves as better. I talked about the human condition a lot, the toxicity of ego and the nature of narcissism, but I grew up with it, making me a keen observer of how it can ruin a man. Words are words, hurtful, shameful and piercing. But without actions to hold them, you start to see their emptiness. More times then I can count I said I am done with this world, as I was constantly sitting in an toxic environment, making me feel that small little circle is all there is to it. But step out and see, you will find eternity awaiting. A whole new world who can be as hurtful as that small circle, but healing and positive as well. So, when you spent so long in the circle, how can you be afraid of that whole new world as it can only be an improvement. It is hard to know your own self worth, as there are so many people who would be more then happy to tell it for yourself, rather then let you find it out. For the longest time I was confused, not knowing was I worthy enough even to live, not knowing what kind of person I was good or bad, as people around me always had an opinion so mine must been invalid. I am starting to see, slowly but surely, that all opinion should be heard and considered, but that counts your own as well. At the end of the day, when you walk in your room, you are left with only your mind and heart. Not the others who constantly had a word in who you are. So sit down and listen, because no one but you can tell you who you really are.

Success is made in attempts of defeat



And it’s true. More they try to break what you build, more it holds value. More they mock, it just means it is worth something. As if you had nothing, made nothing or achieved nothing, you think they would care enough to see it brought down? Our life is our own, our success, our failure, as at the end of the day the sad truth is everyone wants to ravel in your success and everyone wants to mock your failure. Not everyone I know, but you get my point. It is hard to accept we are not the product of who brought us up, we even are not the conclusion of the life we lived. We are our own person, complex, beautiful and faulty. That’s the beauty in humanity, that major imperfection that we stumble, crap every plan we have and make mistakes, but we get up, try numerous times as we find we deserve better and should strive to be better. So who are we to say to anyone who they are, what they can or can not do or how worthy are they? In the simplicity of life the line always goes that there will be failure and faults, but success as well. At the end of the day we walk the path, alone or not, it is our strength and will that makes us go forward. Your worth is determined by how happy you are with yourself. And if you aren’t? So what? The road for self belief and self discovery is a long one, if you look today in the mirror and don’t recognise the person staring back that doesn’t mean tomorrow you won’t. We don’t know life. We don’t know time. The only thing we can hope is that tomorrow will come and that we will do better then yesterday. And for all of us, that should make us enough. We are only human. We are trying. And that is enough. Stagnation is the great life killer, not failure.

The proficient expert of failure



I feel like if I have a degree, that would be it. A worthy title of an unworthy son, who somehow botched success that was never ment for him. It took me a life time to understand that I have my own pace, my own life and my own worth. No one can say it’s wrong or invalid, unworthy, only the individual who walks his own life path can determine that. I failed so many times, more then I can count, that it should probably come as a surprise to myself if I succeed. But after all that was said and done, after all that failure, I feel serenity. And it confuses me. Where after so many wasted attempts I should feel doubt and sorrow, it is all substituted by confidence. Why? Perhaps when you get to know failure so many times, hope is etched deep in your mind, as that is the only thing remaining to be discovered, aspired and yearned for. Success. Perhaps tomorrow will come and I will not make it, but I must try for another day. Not to prove the ill mannered voices wrong, not to break the chains of toxic nature or nurture, not even to ease the suffering heart that beats in my chest. No. I must for the same reason we all have to. Worthiness is not determined by how many attempts it took us to make it, it is determined by how long we stood our ground while life threw bricks at our head. I must to prove, that after all I am still standing and I am still worthy of life.

The Lonesome Road (Trailer #3)

I always have fun making these, so here it is, the third in a row of my attempts to make a decent trailer. I know it ain’t perfect, but hey I am improving.

For more check out my YouTube channel: https://youtu.be/YUAJCYr8LHs

If you want to find out more about the book or to order a copy for yourself, click the link below: https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

Life as we know is gone. The once vivid city now stands abandoned. Earth became a wasteland, stripped of all life. Broken, confused, and in a desperate search for answers, one person still roams its desolate remains.


The Wanderer has no memories, no recollection of the events that led to the end of the world. All he sees are deserted buildings and the smoke that covers the sun.


While taking shelter in an abandoned house one night, the last man on Earth gets a knock on his door. He finds an unexpected guide in a woman who feels familiar.


Will he choose to keep traversing these lands, lost as before, or will he take her guidance to find the answers his heart so deeply desires?

P.O.W.- Art of query, the art of feeling

Ah yes it is the season. The heat is dwindling down, the air is becoming more and more breathable as the world somehow seems to plunge itself more and more into an apocalypse, I emerge from the shadows of my day job that kept me clenched for the last few months as I can roam around a bit more freely. Not yet entirely off my chain, as there is still so much to do, but now I can muster enough strength to get up and actually write something. Not just that, as I abandoned my duties, feeling the immense guilt hovering over me, I try to make myself feel good about my so called profession (as it is still hard for me to consider myself a full pledged writer) and I dive deep into the query trenches with my fellow colleagues, ready to get hurt again. But my oh my, have I forgotten the sweet and somber taste of tears as you wake up and see that one mail notification, not really having the strength to open it as you may presume what answer came in so quickly. But then again, they say writing a book is the easiest part of our journey, of our job and this I take, is one of the more heartbreaking ones.

I am ready to get hurt again



I am well aware I have been lacking when it comes to my duties as a writer. The future is still there, ready to be made, as I make plans and sacrifices that I meticulously preform, I decided it was best to step back from writing as I needed to focus on my day job and get the most out of it financially as I will be quitting it in the following months and moving away. That for one is a moment I can not wait, but until it comes I need to persevere, stand my ground solidly, keeping my head cool and composed, as now with more time on my hands I can get back to doing what I love, what I feel was brought here to do in the first place. So this year was immense for me, not just because of the terrifying notion of the changing future, but as the great start of my writing career. The blog is still going strong and I will be doing more here as I promised, but in this year alone my first book was published, “The Lonesome Road”, and I have finished writing my third book called “Equinox”. So with time on my hand, I slowly began sending queries, forgetting the pain that experience brings with. Ah, the rejection, the anxiety and depression of that one mail, where you know well that the majority will be denied. I was ready, so I thought, as I sent only few out and the other day got only one response that was quicker then I would predict. When you do this few times you get to know that getting a response so quick can never mean anything positive and surely, as I opened my mail after pondering on the question do I want to know what’s in it, I mustered the remaining strength and saw the rejection. Did I predict it? Most definitely, as this is not my first ride and I know how hard it is to get some attention with it. Did it sting never the less? Oh, as a dagger plunged in my heart. You see, there is something in it, where you prepare yourself for it, make your own mind understand it will be a process, that only the rare ones get it resolved so quickly and you practically sit down with yourself and talk to your mind and heart that we are bound to get hurt and that is OK, it’s perfectly fine and normal and yet again it doesn’t diminish the pain recieved. There is some consistency about it I reckon, where it will awake the doubts that you try to keep silent, making yourself question your capabilities as a writer, with the usual questions am I good enough. But one thing is funny to me. I really am at peace. Without pressure I go back down, with all of you my fellow colleagues, down back at the trenches, not losing hope, while accepting the pain od denial, knowing well that what I have in my hands, the work of my mind and heart, is valuable and it will find a pair of eyes that will appreciate it.

To live is to learn



I always say querying is an art form. Something, same as writing, you must master. And I can see that in my case. I compare it, when I started, with my first manuscript and how it went to now and I can see the difference in the approach of querying and even writing. In this profession you always learn something, you always upgrade your skill and I can see that, but what I found the most curious is how my mind set changed. When I first tried to query, I remember the constant rejection, the pain caused from it, how it made me doubt that I was stupid to think in the first place I could be a writer. But now, after everything, the confidence and self belief is astonishing. Especially with someone who battled with mental health issues for most of his life, I am surprised to why do I feel this sudden surge of confidence and serenity. It is almost worrying as I am not used to it. But I guess it comes with age, with experience, with life. After getting through so many mistakes, perhaps it is possible that even I, began to learn from them. Perhaps when we find our purpose, when we find something we love to do, we find ourselves. Maybe in writing more so, as we writers, orchestrates of events and tellers of tales and life, put a part of ourselves in the stories we create and with it comes an instinct to protect and nurture the thing we put out, as it contains our soul. Confidence comes from experience, yes, but it also is created, as no one is born with it. As we are able to create whole new worlds, so we are able to create the self belief necessary to put our faith in them.

The story that the mind holds



Now I am in the toughest position for a writer. I know I have a good manuscript which I need to send out, having the “The Lonesome Road” out which I need to promote, my heart right now cries for new stories to be made. It always pulls you away, the things you want to create, the worlds and tales you wish to present to the world, but I must stay consistent, as that is I feel the thing I lack, the thing that authors need to possess, consistency. I have this idea, which I talked about before here, a series that I want to create which has been in my head for decades now. But fear that I lack the experience to give the story justice prevents me to put it on paper. So perhaps one more project before that one is due, as I slowly started to write few words about it, then we take on the dream. Like I pointed out, with each story we gain experience, learning something new and valuable and for this dream to be put into writing I feel I need to be prepared. So before I take it on, one more manuscript will be written and I feel I will possess enough confidence to do that dream justice. But until then? I am not losing hope. The belief and trust in my capabilities are still there, more mature, more consistent. Right now I will continue to crawl in the trenches of querying, eat the mud and tears as I know that even from that I will gain valuable experience and knowledge. I am confident that Equinox will be accepted, but until then I commit myself to my duties to this blog, to my ongoing projects that are out, not losing faith, never losing hope and slowly making my return to the fold. Much love to you all beautiful people,

Harisson.


If you want to witness the start of my journey and give my first book a shot, here is the link for “The Lonesome Road”, you can find out more about it.

https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

I write this with shame and pride

Even though I am fighting against the heat, alongside the heavy hours of my day job, yearning for a day off that I haven’t seen for four weeks now, I feel like this post was meant to be written. The other day, while contemplating what should I write for this weeks “Process of writing” I stumble on a peculiar notification from my WordPress. “Congrats on the two year anniversary of the Word Den!” . I was shocked a bit, not really knowing the precise date when it all started and surely not being aware it’s been already two years. Time is for certain the silent killer, one that slips through even our mind’s grasp, but seeing that notification made me happy, prideful and yet it filled my heart with such sorrow I couldn’t even imagine.

The confession of a writer



It’s been two years since the Word Den was created. And it’s been two more since I started this whole journey, creating my first book “The Lonesome Road” which came out few months ago. So four, if not more, years passed and looking back at my achievements I couldn’t but feel shame. What have I accomplished? What did I do? Do I feel happy looking back on all these years as a writer? I thought by now I will do more, that by now I will be more. But now, even after all the misery experienced, my life remains the same. Every year I make big promises, saying I am going abroad, trying my hand in something else, that next year I won’t do a shitty job like I do now. And every year I fail, staying at the same place, working the same job, fighting with the thoughts that I am not worthy of my life. And today, while sitting at my break at work, a thought came to my mind. Perhaps I am really not worthy of this life, perhaps I merely withheld a potential, as maybe if someone esle had an opportunity to live it, they would do a better job. Dark thoughts I know, as lately all I am having are dark thoughts. Truth be told even this year I thought I would fail, not even making the promises of progress that I make to myself and others and just stay in place. But life throws unforseen paths, so now I will have to risk it all, and as time approaches for me to move somewhere else, I am scared. Few days ago I saw an old friend I rarely see now. He asked am I going abroad and I said yea next year, to which he answered you tell me that every year. Hearing those words broke my already cracked heart. Am I really that to my friends, a lost soul that seeks something he can never truly grasp? And now, seeing that it is the two year anniversary of the Den, I dropped deeper in the rabbit hole of thought and despair. I know I don’t do as much as I should for this to become my career. Even after writing three books I am not sure I still have what it takes to do this. As writers we are taught by our fellow colleagues that whatever you write, write for yourself as in that case it ensures quality, a book, a story you would want to read would get recognised. But yet, we the ones who pull our soul into the written letter, we strive for validation. After all I’ve done, I still do not know is it good, is it bad, without a solid critique I feel like I am merely drifting into obscurity just to be eaten away by the darkens of the void my mind creates. Even knowing how stupid that sounds, doubt is the current currency in which my mind deals. I know, time will only show, I need to be patient and trust my skills and instinct and yet all my life I felt like a man without time. As if all my achievements should have occurred earlier and now I am lacking, in life, in personality, in soul. Is it because of the society that told me my time is wasting away that I feel so soulless, empty? Or is it perhaps my own dumb quest of putting myself out there in a different place that keeps me from reaching the sorely missed potential? Five years or so have passed since I started writing. Do I have anything to show for it? A blog that has thousands of views, three books that even after I pulled a piece of my soul in each I still feel lacking to call myself a writer. After this prolonged thought, a question remains… What is a writer? How is a writer’s creed and quality measured? Is it the recognition we so foolishly seek, wanting nothing more then pedestals to be put on, that our name is sung and praised for eternity as it is sung of many greats that came before? Or is it perhaps a smile? An intrigue raised in the eyes of the beholder, making the one that holds the written pages, grasping them ever so tightly, wanting more? Is it perhaps that our purpose is to inspire, to motivate, to bring the satisfaction of mind that not all can provide nor obtain?

For what is worth, the attempt counts



I realise this was a bit out of the blue. I go missing for weeks, perhaps now when more then ever I should be here present with all of you, my book practically came out and yet I went away. To be honest, I do possess a good excuse, working everyday for 10 hours without a day off, but frankly I am sick and tired of excuses. I know I can and I am “willing” to write, put out content weekly, other then me pouring out my soul like this to you guys once a week. Ever since I became a writer, hell even before that, I encountered the infamous imposter syndrome. But now is different, I can’t explain it, as if the syndrome consumed my daily life and feelings, spilling itself from my writing counterpart. I doubt not just my writing, but my existence as a whole. I made so many mistakes in life, took so many turns that resulted in too many “Tomorrow I will change” that just vanished away. As always I am perhaps too harsh on myself, as always I need to realise this is a grind and I should keep my head up and get back to the trenches. Even a start of a thing is admirable. And I feel like I did more then just start, I feel like I did more then just wish for a better tomorrow and stood in one place. But it breaks a man, those many attempts that resulted in nothingness, how many times can one rise until he decides enough is enough, what’s the point? With all my troubles, with all my scars and the heavy burden I carry, I wonder, does this all count as a mere attempt, just another shot of mine at something or is it my true redemption, my true calling, proving to myself I am something more then what people saw me for?

I am not quitting



Sometimes it feels like I am. As obligations get the better of me, as the bills need to be paid and relationships need to be mended, I set aside this endeavour of mine for quite some time. But it calls, it beckons, like a sweet tune of a song, it never goes away from my mind. Am I really good enough to do it? Perhaps. Is my life destined for something far less then the greatness of the written word? Maybe. But I won’t quit. I can’t. Because if I do I am betraying all I fought for, every redemption I worked for, as this is much more then writing. This is a chance to prove to myself, to all, that I am not worthless, that my life means something, that I have something to offer to the world. A written word of my suffering that might come as comfort to some, guidance to others and resolution to many. Perhaps I won’t ever get my shot, but if I do, I know, my mind has to rest easy. As this is my path of life, the path of self worth, the path of my own glory. Perhaps I drift into the obscurity of the void, only remembered by my failed attempts, known only as the one who never truly tried or was able to make it, a man made of mere wishes, never out of actions or decisions. Whatever fate has in store for me, wherever this path may take me, I know I must feel the pride of my ways, after taking so many wrongs ones, I need to trust this is the right one. Perhaps I am just a man without time, a lost soul who has wronged his life beyond repair that any attempt of salvation is futile. But does that mean I should not try? Even if I do not know will my effort be worth it, I know this. When it comes to not doing anything, staying in the hole of misery with your own thoughts or attempting to do anything, no matter how slight or insignificant it may be, I will always chose to move forward. I have seen what staying in one place, wallowing in my own self pity brings and it scares me. Because of that fear I shall always move on, go forward and do something, anything, knowing well what doing nothing and giving up brings. As even if the void swallows me whole, let it be known, I too have tried, I too made an effort, I too kept walking forward. Be it a leap, a single step or even crawling, please do know I too tried to move forward.

Process of Writing- Losing the will, finding the way

I have disappeared for a few weeks, trying so hard to find my way back and to get at least this post to you. I am aware that every post, every poem is valuable and shouldn’t be rushed, yet still I am left with this feeling of inadequacy, the sorrowful hand of not being worthy. Writing is my passion, my dream, my desire and yet I am fighting with the outside forces to keep going. I take it seriously, or at least I tend to, making it my responsibility. Being as it is, I do have a responsibility not just to myself to keep on writing, but the responsibility to improve myself, promote my book and so on. But I find myself carrying a heavy boulder of time that drains me. Right now, as any summer, I lost my days off, working around 70 hours a week and I feel drained. Not exhausted, no, but drained of will power, but not inspiration. As I am moving next year I need every coin I can muster up, so I don’t have the ability to complain much, yet I feel my dream suffers, as guilt takes me whole, feeling I sacrificed a part of me at least for now for the sake of the future. But, with the never ending depression, combined by stress and exhaustion, I became a time bomb.

To walk a Path

We all have dreams, aspirations, hopes, right? But the question is not do we have them, but rather can we abide to them, hold and never let go of our dreams. To dream is to yearn, and to yearn is to live. So it does not come as a surprise that we are afraid to lose the dream we cultivated for so much, as it would feel close to death. What is a man without a dream, without hope? Just an empty husk, a mere tear of rain going down a leaf, without purpose, without intent, pointlessly falling down. But there is something that we fear more then losing that precious dream of ours. The fear of false pretense. What if we worked for a dream that we were never able to achieve? Yes, yes to love and lose the love is better then to never love at all, I get it. But is it the same in this case? Is it really better to fight for something even if in the end it was never yours to fight for in the first place? Perhaps it is better to live with the fire in your heart then lie with the stiffness of the soul. But it makes me wonder, it makes me afraid… What if we are inadequate to live up to our dreams, what if it was merely a fools hope? For most of my life, I can not shake the feeling of dread that I might not be capable of doing what I love, but considering the darkness of the alternative, is giving up even an option?

The flow of time, the string of heart

Time tells all tales. Stories that came before and those that will happen. Only time will tell will our efforts be fruitful. We can only do our best. I use this site as my personal shrink, to open up my thoughts that probably only few will read. But to you, the mighty few I present this question, do we want to know? Do we want to know if the dream of our hope and future is ours to make a reality? Is it better to know the truth or live in hope as even then maybe we prove our worth and even make the impossible possible, with great effort and sacrifice even the unworthy can make their dream a reality. I stand before you, as someone who spent his life shrouded in the darkness of his own mistakes and heart, broken and misunderstood I stand the tallest of my capabilities, knowing well what stands behind, I am going to continue to walk forward. The shadows our mind casts will always be tall and heavy, but they, same as the heavy burden of our hope, are our own creations. We, the mighty few, who create the burden, are capable to carry it.

Live and learn

I admit, I don’t know much. I have still plenty to learn. But I am willing. I do not know if my tales, the stories I pull from my heart and put on pages will be read, will they be loved or hated, only time will tell. For me, all that remains is to do my best, knowing well I can not go back to the darkness that awaits behind. Doubt and despair hold me down, with everything in my life I don’t know will I ever feel worthy of being worthy. But I know this. Even in this brief post, just thinking about the hope that resides in me for the future, I know it is worth it. We the few, us the many, must stand taller then the shadows of our mind, shine brighter then the darkness of our heart, as the dark is everlasting, eternal and immortal. It is up to us, to be the shining beacon of hope for the future that is still wished for.

To my few, to all the many, stand prideful and tall,

Harry.

Fear of the future (P.O.W.)

It’s been a while and I have to apologise. I have been absent even though I know I need to keep the blog alive and promote my book. But with the start of the summer, so did my curse start called the day job where I lose my days off and work 60+ hours a week. Yea I know, unbelievable to a point. But I am trying to balance things behind the curtains, working on projects, just not with the pace I am comfortable with. I finished my third book Equinox and now I am in a process of creating the synopsis so I can get back to the query trenches with all of you, to which I am not really looking forward, having the fond memories of rejection. So even if I had slacked when it comes to the Word Den, today I want to talk about something all creators aspire to do, what we fear and what we wish and that is to take that leap of faith and write full time. Today I want to share the fear of the future.



Mind divided, heart decided


When you think about it, on a statistical scale, it’s stupid, right? How many of us are there? How many of us really make it? When I started this journey few years back (geez I can’t believe that I’ve been doing this for couple of years now) a good friend / mentor who is an experienced writer shared few gems of advice and he told me something that stuck in my head till this day. There are so many not good, but great books that remain hidden under the radar of the masses, works with great stories and even greater characters and yet they don’t get the appreciation they deserve. Imagine how many of those writers remain unseen and yet with that scary notion in mind, do you really need to stop writing? No, never. Write for yourself, write the story you want to read and eventually the people will follow. This is not a race this is a journey. I met a lot of people who advised and supported me, as an introvert I am grateful, as without the many voices of experience and wisdom that shared their words with me, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’ve been through a lot. By this point in my life few years ago, I thought I would be dead. But this, writing, saved my life and reminded me I still have something to offer in return. Am I good enough thought? Imposter syndrome is a daily occurance for us, but I get back to the words of my friend. Write the stories you would want to read and the people will follow. But then am I good enough to do this? Yes. And no. This is a journey. In this we learn constantly, daily, we improve and we grow. To say we are good enough can’t cut it as we will always improve. So am I good enough? Well, I am better then I was yesterday.


One for the future


So there is this desire and I dare to speak for all writers and creators here. We all love what we do and offer us to do this daily, for a living and I guarantee you there is no one who would even hesitate to accept that offer in a heartbeat. So how easy is it, I keep asking myself every day. What does it take to accept the calling we feel, to stay strong in these hard times and try? Fear is the constant reminder we are human and it prevents us to take part in things that make us happy. Is it just plain old fear or perhaps rationality? I do not know. But after all I’ve been through, I feel like my life will change after the end of this year. I feel like it is time for me to try, no matter how much I fear, to accept the calling that saved me and give my all. Perhaps we all feel like we have what it takes, but to someone who thought he will never amount to anything, to feel I was born to do this, it is a strange sensation. I had this thing I said way before all of this. Depression took a deep hold and I told once while talking to my uncle that I won’t live past 30. To this day he jokingly reminds me how many years I have left, just now as a reminder how stupid I was. But back then I really thought so as I lived my life as I never mattered, as I will die any second. And I claimed whatever I do till I am 30 will be it as I won’t see past it. I have less then 2 years till I cross that milestone. And after standing under my dark cloud for so long, I say now I will live past it. But these are uncertain times. Is it really smart to take that leap of faith and indulge in our dreams when the tomorrow is not guaranteed? But is tomorrow ever guaranteed? I don’t know much, but I know this. For more then ten years (yea that long) I have worked jobs that demeaned and belittled me, broke me spirituality, mentally and physically. So what’s wrong with that at some point we break our mind and find that hidden strength and just take that leap of faith? If tomorrow is never guaranteed, why not try and make the dawn that will come a bit less gloomy?


The rightful circumstances



Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps those words are thought by a lot of you or perhaps that leap of faith will pay off, who knows? Life is full of uncertainty, you can not control it. All I know I lived most of mine in sorrow and despair so perhaps doing something that makes me happy and fully committing to it will only make me content. All of us have our own stories about this, all of us have opinions on it, so let me know yours, I am always happy for a new insight. Like I said, right now my schedule is hectic, I feel so broken but I will try my best to continue to write. Right now the synopsis of my new book is a priority, I feel like it’s taking longer then the actual book. But I am here, still fighting, still believing, still going forward. Perhaps there won’t ever be a right time to fully commit to the craft or perhaps we ourselves have to make the time right. All I know my heart, my soul are screaming to take that leap of faith and who knows, perhaps on the other side happiness awaits…

Harry

Remember the message, spread awareness (P.O.W.)

It is the last day of May. I know I spent the last few days, weeks even talking about “The Lonesome Road” but don’t think I have forgotten this rather important month. Even if my book has an important message, I couldn’t just let this last day go by without stating the obvious. We have months like these to remember, to make the unaware aware, to speak up to those who know less and yet there is a certain problem I have with these kind of things. As if it makes us use that one month to speak about certain issues, with such passion, with such numbers, and as time passes by so do the thoughts that were put on such issues. But time passes, it awaits for no one, yet these struggles stay. So let us not forget, let us remember, not just in May, but in June, August and December, through out the year, that we shouldn’t be afraid to speak up about our burdens, our struggles and we should not shun, but help, not forget, bur rally, not blame, but understand.

The message stands

Why is it so hard to care? Is it because the world is filled with enough problems, so we just choose on which one to focus our mind on? Or is it perhaps the question of some problems are just bigger then other? Whatever it may be, one thing is for sure, we should never forget. Forget how to be humans, how to be friends, brothers and sisters. We shouldn’t forget how to care, how to understand. Because I believe there it is hidden, the solution of all problems, no matter which one specifically we choose to fight for. Just remember to be human. As I said, May might be over, but as with a lot of these months were we choose to spread the awareness, we should never forget to care. This world can be much sometimes. Our environment can be harsh and unforgiving, but it is up to us to carry the message, to hold the banner and speak up, every month, every year and every day. Let us never forget to be there for others, creating a safe haven to speak, to talk, to show we do want to understand. The sad truth is one man can not change the world. But one man can make it a bit better. And isn’t that the whole point? If we all attempt to do it, if we all try, in the end there will not be just one, but many. And who knows, we might just change the damn world after all.

Be human

Mental health issues will perhaps one day be accepted as that, problems we don’t need to hide. As many problems, there is always a certain amount of distrust, or the lack of trust, when we try to open up, when we try to speak up. We often tend to think what the person who is about to receive that information will think. Will they judge? Will they just shrug their shoulders and say its nothing, man up? We create the environment we live in. We create the world we inhabit. It is dangerously reckless to claim we can’t do anything about it when we all have the power to make a difference. But it takes a step. A leap of faith that at first seems so insignificant, so small, as in why would I even do it, what difference would it make? To the world? Perhaps none. To one person? It can be life changing. Like I said, perhaps one individual can not change the world, but pulled together, we as a society, we can damn well do some damage. But we can not think that small, one step is meaningless. As if we all take one step forward, it is no longer a single step, but a jump, a leap inside of an ocean that could create a tidal wave. But, to do that, we must remember, stay human. Don’t let ego make your decisions. Every action matters, everything we do affects someone, we can not think so highly that we are alone in this universe, in this world, just look around and you shall see. Sometimes we all just need a hand, to stand up. Be it a tough life, a crappy day or just a bad luck weekend, offer that hand to someone who is down, and who knows? You just might make a difference.

To those who fell

I keep on repeating myself, I know. Sometimes I just can’t help it. But I felt how you are feeling and I still do. Everyday is a struggle. Everyday you feel like you need to find a reason, no matter how big or small, just to get through to the night. I know. Believe me. Sometimes you just try no to think about it, go on to work, out, just shoving your emotions in a corner, because it’s easier to deal with them when they come crushing back when you get home later, alone on the floor of your room, trying to deal with the crap you tried to just for one day, forget. This life, my beautiful people, is just a trial of run and error. We make mistakes. We all do. It is just human nature, no one is perfect. We all carry scars, just some of us have bigger ones. But even if we make mistakes today, no one guarantees us we will make new ones tomorrow. Trial of error and run. Your run this life, doing best you could, making mistakes, until one time you get it right. And even if now or sometimes feels like you can’t get it right, you will. You have the strength to stand right now, today. You made it this far. Through all the pain and suffering, standing today against the odds. You will make it through tomorrow. It is hard to trust. We look at humanity with open eyes and sometimes we want to cry. But we can not judge it whole with prejudice. Open your mind and your heart and who knows? Humanity might just surprise you.

And for the rest? Don’t judge. Extend your hand, make and effort to understand. It is already hard for us to speak about it as when we do, we speak with fear. Make us hope, as hope is what we need, to show that maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, the sun might shine just a tad bit more brightly.

Speak the message throughout the year. Break the stigma. Break the prejudice. Open your minds and heart. Understand. And be human.

P.O.W.: When depression blocks life

I have never experienced a block while writing one of these. Perhaps it is the consistency that clogs the so called pipeline of imagination that provides the lively inspiration where we draw our plots from. In my short time I have experienced some instances where my depression renders me useless, as the rage boils that every single letter I put down feels unworthy. Combined with the famous imposter syndrome you become a well timed bomb which destroys more then it creates. So the question beggs, how do we deal with it when depression sits on our shoulders, like a giant boulder preventing us to breath?



Distance gives perspective



Sometimes pushing through it is the worse option out of the two. No matter the strength we possess, and we all do have some even if it feels at time you are tired and want to give up, pushing through with your head against a wall could prove fatal. It is OK to take a break. Sometimes we can’t battle with our thoughts but rather we need to understand them, argue with your mind rather then ignore what it says. We all carry a burden. To some it is less heavy to the rest it is more, but never more then we can take. Depression is a condition that can not be beaten, it is a condition we learn how to cope with. You never beat your demons, you just learn how to live among them. So there is no shame if you fall from time to time. In a constant struggle, no one can win all the time. Perhaps people who don’t experience this won’t understand, but we fight a battle each and every day. So you have to remember. It is not the battle that is important to win, but rather the complete war. At the end of the day, we all are just human. We will continue to fall, continue to make mistakes, the important thing is not to give up, know that your life is worth it and sometimes take a breath. Distance yourself. Look things from a different angle and the solution will arrive.



What you do has value



Sure, even if I speak about writing specifically, I am looking at a more general topic in mind. Life. Whatever you do, you will have doubts about it. Questioning am I really good at this, should I even try, why do I even bother? Because you can. Because you must. We, the few who fight with our mind constantly, have the strength to fight for a better life. If no one told you, know this, it takes lot of strength to come on top of your thoughts every day. So never doubt you have what it takes to do what you want. We all doubt, it is in our human nature. Whatever we create, the more we look at it, the more it seems like it’s worthless. If you write 300 pages, reread it a dozen times, each time you gonna think of it as a worthless project. But to a fresh pair of eyes, it might seem as something beautiful. In this life we can’t walk alone. As much as we want to be alone sometimes, no matter the allure of solitude, we need to resist it’s call. People give you perspective. People give you direction. The right people can steer you, build you and put you down when you need to be. Life is complicated as it is. We can’t go in it by our own. There is never shame in asking for help, for an advice or for some company. Because it is a lone road ahead.



What was broken can be rebuilt



We all fall. It is an unavoidable event that life provides. It is our choice to stay down or to rise back up again. But never think you deserve the fall. Because I know, it is so easy to think we deserve the pain we get. The hard thing is admitting to yourself that you deserve some good in your life as well. That good comes hard. That’s why most of the time we choose to stay down, as it is the easy thing to do. But when you look what you get by doing so, it gets scary. The easy thing to do is not always the right thing to do. So get up. So what if you fall again? Don’t be afraid of it. Once you know the fall, the dark that it brings, you will fight for the light that awaits up top.



Least words



So here, I promised I would try to be consistent and here it is. Two weeks in a row, wow. I am trying to built this site, with consistent content I believe it can be a good thing. The Process of writing is my way of saying to those who feel the same as I do that they ain’t alone. The poetry I make is just my daily thoughts and emotions put to words. Perhaps it’s decent, perhaps it’s not. But I am willing to believe it will get to the point that the content as a whole will be better. I want to bring my short story project back so stay tuned for that. I want to say to the few who read these lines that I am grateful and honoured. Love to you all beautiful people and until next week,
Harry.

My book “The Lonesome Road ” is available for preorder: https://www.5310publishing.com/book/thelonesomeroad

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑