Saturday, 2 January 2016

A Predictable World with Unpredictable Adults...

I love the above quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Once some of you read this post you might feel the title seems a bit unreal, all I ask is that you remember I speak from experience, these are my words, and in my heart I know that somewhere along the way, another will read this and it will make perfect sense.

The difference an unpredictable adult can make to gifted children... if we are able to sit down, watch a scene or a time unfold; we’d know answers... the majority of us would say hang on, ‘NO’...  Let’s address this and ensure no child is at the end of that person displaying inappropriate behaviour, and then we’d be able to do something constructive. We would be able to stop a particular scenario and realise that sometimes events do have terrible consequences. I have grown to understand that some children are resilient and able to deal with it, and are often able to self heal, but sadly some can’t. The potential in living with unstable adults is that quite often it can have a dreadful outcome, especially if the adults around are ignorant, not supportive, or worse still, in denial.  

It’s important to remember that any affected child, could be damaged before help is received. I still cringe at the thought of the amount of times; others must have simply passed us by.  It happens though, and usually it’s because the unseen or frozen children slip through the net, or the adults responsible are so clever in their disguise, that they’re able to cause a smoke screen or even worse, make others feel sorry for them and their plight... 2016 has to be a year of ‘MINDFULNESS’. And today that’s what I want to raise awareness to. The only difference for me is that I consider myself to be a story-teller, and usually in my stories there’s a lot a fact with a little fiction. Unfortunately when I was a child the fiction was the remedy, the answer, and even the solution. I use to make stories up and believe that real live angels would come and help us, and to be fair one day they did. Apart from a short period I never looked back... I consider myself to be one of the lucky children. I was rescued. 

Here is a small scene from something I’m currently working on. It’s about a father who has a lot of problems. He’s a rather sad figure but guilty of being an alcoholic and more often than not he’s the perpetrator in domestic violence. Because of his own upbringing, he also has horrendous mental health issues that are not being addressed. His anger is always aroused when he’s intoxicated however, the first time he goes to beat his baby daughter he discovers she has a gift, and that gift is responsible for her being able to calm any given situation... in this scene, he’s experiencing it for the first time. She magically stops the situation from escalating and even though he’s confused, he realises that actually, it is she whose in control.

Insanity sweeps though him as his psychiatric disorder takes over, he lifts a clenched fist, white knuckles bulging and the rage floods through him... for a micro second, a sane part of his brain realises the motion of slowness around him is not normal and it catches his breath. He shakes his head; this is not how it has gone before... what the hell is different?

Visibly he flinches, he looks at the baby and as he circles her tiny form, her eyes penetrate deep into the very essence of his being... Time slows down as anger stabs hard at him. He raises his fist higher, the intention ravaging him. He’s mad but has to let it go... His fist is six tiny inches away from her beautiful face, those big, soft, blue eyes flood with liquid, long lashes flick nervously. He is hit by her overwhelming innocence. Slowly he pulls his hand away, and as he gently picks her up; he pulls her in close and whispers how sorry he is.

Her job is done... For now! 

As a child growing in an uncertain world she knows things...  she knows stuff that she doesn’t understand, She knows how to send energy to those who need it, and she knows how to keep herself safe because others are incapable. She is a child yet she knows that she is wise beyond her years. She can’t understand it all... she knows so much. She is aware of information that's inexplicable in terms of how she would know these things at such a young age. She also knows that death is not the end, and for reasons unknown, she also knows it’s simply a transition. She does know one other thing though... she knows and appreciates that knowledge gives power, a power she's always been aware of and thankfully, that power will forever remain.

Jane Ewen

Saturday, 25 July 2015

I'm A Strong Lady...

I am a strong lady however; it dawned on me this week that I always apologise even when I’m not at fault. On occasion this has caused me to become angry with myself but listen, a great big beautiful, light-bulb moment happened recently, when it became very clear why I do this...

I do it because I was born with an over abundance of maternal instinct, and I think this is because my own biological mother did not possess a seed of sense, let alone the maternal stuff which keeps others safe, well and happy... I say I’m sorry because I want to pass on a warm message to others, so that they know without hostility that it’s ok as well as healing to be sorry. It doesn’t mean their weak if they portray this kindness. In fact after a life-time of experience, I know this is a quality of strength which is much better shared.
I’m a great believer in that we’re able to touch another with love, warmth, compassion, and kindness. I also believe you can still connect even if they are angry to the point they walk away, and consider you to be either a person with a hidden agenda or weak...
Although another beings aggression use to hurt my feelings, like others, I only ever have the best intentions. I often find myself smiling inside because despite their initial reaction, the one thing I’ve realised is that most people act instantly, and at some point they will reflect. It is then I hope they will see the incident, and feel the correct emotions in a much calmer space where hopefully they’ll learn.  
All WE have to do, is never give up... there will always be people who don’t care but usually at some point in life they will, and that is where you were/are the lesson.
I sense some mumbles at the above message but let me say this, I’m also realistic and I know at times it’s definitely much better to walk away. I am blessed with instinct which tells me the people who are worth my time and those who are not... Also there are certain things that should never be apologised for... for instance: your emotions, for being you, for loving another, standing up for what you believe, being honest, forgiving someone, following your dreams etc.

"I write with love and respect, and hope my words simply reinforce what you already know, if you don’t know then hopefully it might make you think"...

© Jane Ewen July 2015

Friday, 24 July 2015

My Dream...

Our dream’s, dramas, life, learning, and living, are all essential to who, what, and where we are.
I had a special day yesterday, it was my birthday. I’m not sure if it’s because I was captivated by the day, and those around me but as the day progressed, It became much clearer about who, where, and why, I was doing the things I’d been trying to accomplish over the past few years.

Definitely a day for reflection.
I guess I realised that at last I’m in a space which has taken a long time to get to, and because of where I am, I realise, and super appreciate how lucky I am to be here. I feel crystal about where I want to go, and what I want to do. I know from speaking with others that in itself is a real gift.

Family life is fabulous, and my working life is content... the thing I’m really working hard on, is my beloved writing. I realise there has to be a certain amount of talent to accomplish the dream. I’m beginning to wonder if all the passion I feel for the profession will help, and subsequently contribute to a successful end...

Only time will tell.
My dream to be a writer incorporates many things... Looking back I had a really poor childhood, so I know the need to be heard is extremely important, a wish to share heartfelt messages so that others will know they’re not alone. The hope that one day I will write stories in a way that others will actually feel as if they are physically there, and not only will they hear the story, but they’ll feel it, and sense each characters heartbeat. Even though I want this and more, I’m aware that in developing that unique world of the imagination, I especially want to remain reclusive, be a mysterious writer who is intent on making big changes for the better. As I reach out to beings from all walks of life with a dream to help make life better, I think only then will I feel that yes, I’ve made it...   

Sometimes it takes just one word to switch on a light bulb for another... And the phenomenal thing is that change can be extraordinary.

© Jane Ewen July 2015 


Friday, 10 July 2015

Just Sayin...

I want to say how thankful I am to other writers, editors, and publishers who show, share, and educate others.  I’m super-grateful for their expertise, and welcome relevant signposting so that I can develop professionally.

I read an article which I wouldn't dream of sharing on my Face-book writer’s page due to its disheartening content. I am super aware, and know my limitations. I realise I’m not a 'Professional Author' it's well documented that I feel I have much to learn, and it's my dearest wish that when the time is right I'll connect with a caring professional who will help me grow.

So what’s brought these thoughts to the fore... I recently read an article where I believe an Editor disrespected a good Storyteller because of the amount of editing they had to do. I presume most self respecting writers are aware of their shortcomings, and I suspect this is why there is a delay showing, and sharing work.  When I reach the end of my manuscript it is my hope that I'll understand the process and how it must be presented for final stages.

It's my understanding that the editor decides whether or not they take on something that needs a lot of work...

For the record, education was not my families priority however, I have tried my best to make up for lost time in childhood, which means, I would want to polish any script of mine to the very best of my ability but I know, and it goes without saying, I would need support. I also know, had I been that particular person in the article I mentioned earlier, it would have knocked my confidence way back... It’s not easy to open up, and share ones thoughts, so when you get past that hurdle, and share your soul it’s negative to read that quite possibly you’ll be a 'comparison' in an article to explain whatever it was the editor needed to explain...  

Never one to finish on a negative...

Life is full of ups and downs... what we have to remember is that we hold the magic within, and it’s us who have the unquestionable ability to initiate actions to make magic sparkle... I believe this, and no one can tell me any different...

~Jane Ewen~
© July 2015  



Wednesday, 1 July 2015

I Will Never Stop Believing...

Image shared from Google.
Deep inside I've always had a special feeling; it’s never left but on occasion its gone quiet.
Through the trials and tribulations of life I quickly learned you have to love what you do. I love words, I love people, I love messages and I especially get a super duper, blissful feeling when I plant seeds. As a child I learned with sadness that it’s best not to wait for anyone.  This became instrumental in my life and as I plod on and make the best of everything, I see much beauty in this day, and no matter what, I’m on the right path and even if things had been completely different I think I would still be where I am right now because it really is the right place for me.  
My dream has yet to materialise but the other fabulous thing here is that every single day I get to do what I want, and I’m able to pick and choose what, when and if I write. The icing on my cake would be for a publisher to see potential, and give me a chance... A chance I wouldn’t waste, a chance I would work hard with. Mind you, as I write these beautiful, heartfelt words I realise 100% that I write what others feel, dream and share.
We are not alone, and it doesn’t seem to matter where you are because there is always another wonderful writer close by.
~Jane Ewen~
© July 2015.


Saturday, 13 June 2015

Dreams & Drama...

I have a sleep condition which unfortunately, seems to prevent me from dreaming. Despite this, but prior to being diagnosed I always use to dream, I loved my dreams. I have to share that I’ve never dreamt about my father... I’d like to say he was the best dad in the world... but he wasn’t. I know if he was here now he’d tell you the same. I don’t understand why but for the past two weeks I’ve had several vivid dreams, and in each one he has told me something special...

The road is long... through the haze of a dazzling mid-day sun; I watch speckles of dust as they dance high into the air... Looking around there are no signs of life, except for a single dwelling with a separate garage on my left, and a single double fronted shop on my right.

My focus is the shop.

Without taking my eyes off the shops door, I notice I’m breathless; I became aware of a dog running. There’s tightness in my chest as I flick frightened eyes to the left... oh my God, no, no, no... A Rottweiler is running after me. In sheer panic I wrap my arms around myself. It zips through my mind like a gramophone player, don't you run, don't you run, Nooooooo... don't you dare run... Oh god it’s on me.  It rises up, wraps huge front paws around me and as if in slow motion it walks in a grotesque fashion, alongside. I don't falter, I don't stop but I'm choking, my eyes stream. Terrified, I’m petrified of dogs.   

Growls, snarls, the glint from polished teeth snap, snap snapping.

I’m going to die, so with one last effort I push open the shop door... My eyes meet his... I open my mouth; I struggle, and in barely a whisper

"Dad... dad, Dog"

He knows I’m frightened, his hand reaches across the counter, and he grasps a handful of sweets, colourful, sugary temptations.

Defiantly he steps towards me and in a booming, Irish voice he commands the dog to sit. It falls away from me exposing angry red welts across my body.

It sits.  

His gaze steady on the dog as he offered more sweets.  

Standing at his side I continue to shake from head to toe. I become completely overwhelmed by my dad’s presence and the most incredible feeling of love, warmth, and safety permeates me. Grateful, I watch as he continues to feed the dog, he tells me not to worry, he says he’s been poorly for the longest time, and that I need to listen to more music, he says on the other side he’s a teacher, and as if by some form of magical enchantment, a magnificent white, grey horse appears, and when dad turns his attention to give it a sweet, for me it’s all too much.

In my roller-coaster of deep, dark emotion, I finally break down and let it all out.

Opening confused, sleep filled eyes... I realise I've been in a land of the unknown, and that I’d met and communicated with my deceased father...

Once I'd calmed ,and in soulful reflection realised there was evidence that my story is set to continue. I felt fortunate to have acquired essential knowledge that this journey is far from over; holding that confirmation fills me with ease.

As I dress and plan for the day ahead, in my mind's eye I see the old Irish rogue who very rarely smiled but oh when he did my world lit right up...

~Jane Ewen~

Sunday, 17 May 2015

The Loft... In My Mind.

Picture kindly shared from Pinterest.

The loft in my mind is open 24/7... It’s a place for characters who want to transpire in my next story, or book. I’ve heard them say they chose me to ensure their story is heard; they need a connection, oh and a place to stay... It’s disappointing but I've had to disengage from a couple of characters; they were dark, too dark to live in the loft. With help from the rest of the residents, their removal was relatively quick because the lofts residents won’t put up with anything, or anyone who tries to take over... Dear lord, don’t ever let anyone try to take over.  The chances are the residents will take over, and we won’t see the character again.

(At first it was as if the statement below was heard through an old radio)
“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”.

These words greeted me last night as I tried to relax. Initially I attempted to ignore them because I knew this had to be a new character trying to move into the loft but I'd been writing all day, I wanted to rest.  
“If you don’t listen then I’ll keep saying it, my dream multiplies, it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time” (Silence)

(Someone) breathes a heavy Sigh... 
“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

That someone is breathing to the point where I can literally feel its frustration as it seeps into my bones.
“My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

I should speak, maybe even acknowledge its presence but to be honest I can’t tell whether it’s male, or female. Maybe it’s neither, maybe it’s from the other side? I’ve had a few of them, and again, not a pleasant experience.
 “My dream multiplies; it looks, sees, and wants what it wants all of the time”

“Ok, ok... Bloody hell I’m coming”.
Reluctantly and with much annoyance I progress towards the staircase... here is where I always find them. Their either sat on the bottom step, draped over the banister, or persistently knocking on the lofts huge double doors, which by the way would never get an answer, because the residents have stopped opening the door to strangers. So they wait for me. 

The smell was atrocious ... I smelt him before I saw him, and I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to see. A small skinny man with knobbly knees, he wasn’t wearing any trousers, however he was wearing shiny shorts. His white string vest had seen better days. I couldn’t believe the oversized trainers with no socks, and his small bony face housed dark sunken eyes, it was as if two thumbs had pressed them into an oversized skull.  On his head wispy bits of what looked like hair waved like seaweed, but for the most part he was bald. On his forehead he had a long, rather strange looking scar which was shaped like a bolt of lightning. His hooked nose protruded like that of an eagle.  I noted and quickly recoiled from his grubby hands, nails were bitten and black, as if he’d been digging dirt all day. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and lying on the floor by his feet was a small, brown, dingy looking suitcase.
Clearing my throat I asked what I could do for him.

“Ahh you came” he boomed.
Now there was a voice that didn’t suit this man.

“Yes I usually come when summoned, especially if a room is needed for the night”
“I need it longer, much longer, and maybe longer still”.

He stood, moving from one foot to the other in a most irritated fashion.
“What can I do for you sir?”

"I need somewhere to stay, and with someone who can make my dreams, nightmares go away”
Uneasy, he looked around...

“What are you running away from?” I enquired, (no point in beating about the bush)
"Nothing... no one, just down on my luck and need company”

“You wouldn’t be bringing any bad luck to my door now would you?”
No answer...

“Would you?”
“Of course not, like I said, need a place to stay and some company”

“Do you work around here?”
“Yes I work close by, came straight from there and needs me a shower”

Lip licking and nervous tension, (I didn’t like this...)
“Tell you what sir; I’ll see if there are any vacancies... I’ll be right down”

I knew I hadn’t made the right noises, his dark eyes smouldered as dirty, bony fingers twitched.
At the top of the stairs I knocked, a resident opened it a crack.

“Any vacancies?” silence rebounded as the resident stepped forward, and looked down the stairs eyeballing the character.
“Who wants to know” the resident replied hoarsely.

“I do” came the skinny mans booming response.
“Come closer and we’ll discuss”

The skinny man dragged his suitcase up the stairs; his eyes never left the resident.
"I’m looking to stay for a few days, need company and some routine”

“Is that right?” said the resident as a few more voices vibrated from the door.
“Well this is how it goes, we don’t like noise, disrespect, or parties; no strangers are allowed, and no smoking, we have a rota for cleaning the kitchen and bathroom daily, any problems with that?”

“No problem at all, I’m not after looking for any trouble, just need accommodation”. The resident made way and made a gesture with his hand towards the door, and as it opened all that could be seen from within was dark shadows.
Just as he got to the perimeter of the door, skinny man looked around, winked at me as he whispered,

“I’ll be seeing you”. He was gone.
“You’re letting him in then?” I nodded to the resident.

“Yep, any funny business like the last one and you’ll hear from us soon enough or maybe you won’t”.
As the resident blinked green, lizard like eyes, I rubbed my chin as I considered our new character, a character that will certainly get creative juices flowing; he obviously has issues, possibly some interesting history. Doesn’t really matter, he managed to get his oversized, sockless feet through the door to the loft, and if you knew the Loft’s residents that is indeed a massive achievement. 

Stay tuned for updates.

©2015 Jane Ewen