Art, bloggity blog, writing

Thoughts on how abstract art can help you

I was talking to one of my friends this morning about how to get back into the swing of things. She asked me how I got my groove back after I escaped Rock Bottom.

And it took a while, but, in the end what has helped me is blogging and abstract art.

Quite often when we create art we put so much focus on things and it is that focus which we lack when we become blocked.

Blocked = no focus.

No focus = no art/no words.

No art/no words =sad artist.

Well, actually, sadder artist because normally we become blocked because we are sad (or sick or anxious or tired etc)

Abstract art allows you a kind of freedom to be creative without actually having to create something specific. Especially with art forms like acrylic pouring, drip painting, drawing fractals, ink blots and other such “chaos” art.

I call it “chaos” art because it is less about talent and more about luck and outside influence. I’m not saying that it doesn’t take talent or that those who use these forms are talentless, it is simply not as reliant on talent as trying to do sketch wirh charcoal or do an oil painting of your great aunt Petunia.

But it is a way of creating and expressing and getting almost instant results.

Same sort of thing for the blogging. Sometimes, I have no idea wtf I am gonna write about. I haven’t been able to put pen to paper at all. So I just pick a thought floating around in my bubbly grey matter and start madly thumb-typing away.

It is about getting synapses firing.

Blood pumping.

Creative juices bubbling and boiling until they simply spill out of your noggin.

Now I will leave you with a few pickies of the pours I (and by I, I actually mean me and the roomy) finished today.

Love

Amberley

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bloggity blog, writing

Yet…

I miss the way you look when you are staring at something you love

The awe in your eyes

The gentle curve of an alomst-smile on your lips

Your brow smooth, worryless.

Me: Sally

You: Jack

I miss your gentle touch

The way you gather me up in your arms…

Me: a dandelion seed

You: a sweet, summer breeze

I miss the passion and the heat of you

Hot enough to start a fire but never burning my skin

Me: Morticia

You: Gomez

I miss the look in your eyes…

I miss the smile on your face when you see me.

As if I am a happy surprise

A gift you did not expect

And that smile is the special one you only show me.

Only my eyes have seen…

Me: Hermione

You: Ron

I miss your hand on my lower back.

Me: the canvas, blank, waiting

You: the paint, colour, life

I long for all these things.

And more…

All these things I have never had.

Because, I have not met you,

Yet…

Our paths have not crossed

Destiny has not pulled us together.

There must be more for us to do

More for us to learn

Apart

How do you miss someone you have never met?

Love

Amberley

PS this is in no way about goat-dragon.

I miss goat-dragon the way an insect misses pesticide. The way a snowman misses the desert. The way a dog misses its intestinal parasites.

Not at all…

FYI: This is the first time I have written about love in a long time… maybe something has healed. Maybe something has changed. I dunno. But if you made it this far, thank you for reading my terrible poetry. All the love…

bloggity blog, writing

I need your help/advice

I cannot decide which novel to concentrate on. I literally write a paragraph of one then change my mind and switch.

Please, cyberfam, advise me on which novel I should put my efforts into.

  1. Epic fantasy series, dark, piratey, demi-gods and goddesses, strange portals that cross over to our world, backstabbing, people getting stabbed in the back/front/side/face & love.
  2. Sci-fi, utopian-dystopia, MC is a kind of bounty hunter kinda sorta not really. Lots of action, aliens and swearing. Maybe a little love. Maybe inter-species lesbians… not sure yet.
  3. New adult novel about a shock artist and his assistant. Think “2 weeks notice” with Sandy Bullock if Huge Grant’s character was a Pollock/Marilyn Manson/Collin Christian… with more sex, drugs, cars and rock n roll and cakes.
  4. They all sound terrible. Go get a real job. Please burn all of your notebooks.

Please and thank you.

Love

Amberley

bloggity blog

Life-upcycling

I am currently walking up and down my hallway. I’m not pacing, exactly…

As part of my life-upcycling that is in progress, I’m trying to get fit again.

It is too hot to walk outside and I have no one to look after the kids. I don’t have the money to join a gym and I know I wouldn’t go if I did.

I don’t want to do nothing. As tempting as it may be to curl up in bed and let myself drift further down the spiral. That is not what I want to let myself do.

So, I watch my FitBit as I race up and down the halls like a manical cat on heat… with out all the screeching of course.

Well, maybe a little screeching.

It is ironic actually. My destination-less wandering is a lot like my old life. A lot of movement nowhere. Floundering. Swimming through pitch.

Except this is giving my legs a workout.

Love

Amberley

bloggity blog, writing

The danger of undeserved power

Prologue

The books I’ve read have always explained blood as smelling “coppery” or “metallic.” They’re not wrong, but they’re not right either.

Yes. I could detect that old-penny tang in the air, but there were other things too.

They never mention the rot of it. The butcher shop meatiness. The piss and shit part that will undoubtedly be there. Because if there is so much blood you can smell it, then someone is either dead or about to be. A band aid would no longer help them.

Blood doesn’t just smell like loose change. I should know. I was covered in it.

The final chapter

Pain was what I felt.

There was no shock. His behaviour no longer shocked me.

It was bad, what he did, don’t get me wrong. But it wasn’t the worst. This was a Tuesday morning type of hit. Not, say, a Friday night when he knew I’d have, at least, the weekend to recover so no one could see.

Some of you may ask, what did I do to deserve it? Cause I’ve heard that one before. I must’ve started it. Asked for it in some way.

And you’d be fucking right. I did something that pissed him off. I don’t regret it neither.

I bought the wrong ice cream.

I had stood in the super market, staring into the ice cream freezer at the ice cream I knew he liked. Trying to make a decision, I fiddled with the six dollars in very small change that sat fat in my pocket and jingled loudly, sounding out the joyous accompaniment to my poverty.

I could afford to get one tub of what he wanted but we’d have not much else to eat. And he’d never share the ice cream with me. I was fat enough, he’d say.

Or I could buy milk, bread and the cheap plain stuff. I knew I could make it nice for him. I thought we’d have some Oreos in the back of the cupboard, maybe some chocolate sauce. I could turn it nice like the expensive stuff. And that way, we could at least eat toast until his pay day.

I thought it was a good idea.

While I lay on the floor, feeling my lip swell and pulse, watching my blood puddle on the linoleum, I realised I was wrong.

He said nothing as he stormed away from me, fists clenched as if he were ready to take another swing.

I stayed on the floor. Unmoving. Trying not to cry. Crying only made it worse. Playing dead. If I don’t move he can’t see me.

I sneaked a peek as he sauntered around the kitchen, his boxing ring. He slammed open the freezer door so hard that it made me flinch and I doubted it would ever close properly again. Taking out the white and black tub, he threw it at the kitchen window with a thunderous, wet crash which made me flinch again.

The ice cream, half liquefied because our freezer was on the fritz, sprayed across the kitchen bench, vanilla white tears streaked down the cob-webbed window.

I still cowered as he stalked around the kitchen, breath like fire burning, he couldn’t get it out of his lungs quick enough.

I, a mouse, a small creature, heart murmuring be still, be still, be still. But, for the first time, I do not see a cat in front of me. I do not see a tiger, a lion, a wolf.

I see just a man.

And even if he were an animal, he would be a Chihuahua. All bark and some bite, enough to draw blood. But no longer enough to eat me alive.

If my heart pounds be still then it is the heart of a bear and he heard my roar. And I will not be still any longer.

He had power over me for a lifetime and I will give him no more.

It may not have been the worst time, just a Tuesday morning, but it was the last time.

I waited till the blood stopped pumping to call an ambulance. I had to dirty a tea towel to use my phone. I won’t lie. I enjoyed watching him die.

The cleaver in my clenched fist, slick with his blood, no longer shakes.

Power is not something that can be taken, it must be given, even if it seems stolen at times. But there is a secret they – the fake wolves, fake lions, fake predators – don’t want us to know.

We can take our power back.

Short story for Chuck Wendig’s Fiction Challenge

If you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, please seek help. Go to the police. Do not pass go. No two hundred dollars for you. Go now. Today. Because this bullshit has to stop.

To put it into perspective for you, here is a quote from Huffington Post.

The number of American troops killed in Afghanistan and Iraq between 2001 and 2012 was 6,488. The number of American women who were murdered by current or ex male partners during that time was 11,766. That’s nearly double the amount of casualties lost during war.

And this just for America. And this number has not improved. It is only getting worse.

Silence about domestic violence can be deadly. So please, please, please speak out. #notviolentnotsilent

And don’t resort to the lengths that my character went to. This is a work of fiction and by no means an instruction to murder a spouse. Abusive or not. No stabby stabby.

If you are unsure if your partner is abusive, I will attach something below that shows the typical behaviour of DV and DA situations. If any of the items on that list are checked please call the police, ask for help, stay safe.

You don’t have to walk on eggshells forever. You don’t have to be another statistic. You can have a life again. You have the power. You are stronger than you think.

Love

Amberley

bloggity blog

Fashionably late to the party

I never catch a fad when it is happening.

I swear.

Fandoms come and go and two years or more later I will stumble across them and be like “AH HA!” That’s what all those weirdos were going on about…

I only started watching My Little Pony.

I have just started listening/reading The Dark Tower series.

I just got Bitmoji and a FitBit.

And so on.

But I guess it doesn’t matter when you discover something new. What matters is that you keep discovering new things.

So go find something new for you and if you have any weird things you are currently fascinated by, please tell me about them in the comments.

Love

Amberley

bloggity blog

Still Breathing

The thing about hitting rock bottom is that you never really know when you are there until you start to build up from it. Or until you are away from it.

You can assume that “it couldn’t get any worse,” but these words are often folly and should be treated in the same way as “Lord Voldemort,” (For the muggles – don’t fucking say it out loud)

Sometimes we find ourselves so broken we do not know what to do, where do we go from whatever shit-heap life has dolloped on us. But that is the thing about “Rock Bottom” is it can be a perfectly solid foundation on which we can rebuild ourselves.

And quiet often people get stuck here, in this mental and emotional wastelands that is Rock Bottom. We become so afraid to continue on, so afraid to live, that we get stuck floundering.

Rock Bottom is sort of like a basement/dead-end-town. Sometimes we have to go down there, forced to tip-toe down the creaky steps, breathing in the putrid, mouldy air, but it is not good for us to make a bed down there and exist down there. It is not living. We become hollowed out and empty.

Residency in Rock Bottom should be short lived, if possible. But, if you find yourself there, building your life back up should start immediately. The building process doesn’t need to be quick. Slow and precise is probably preferable. As long as there is some upwards movement, some growth, some positive change.

If you aren’t the building type, in Rock Bottom there is this place, kind of like a lookout. But from there you can actually see a great deal – often both bad and good. You can actually jump from this place. This is the only way to get to the good things you can see in the distance. The problem is that there is no concrete guarantee that you will land with the good.

And to take this leap you have to have a certain amount of faith. This faith does not have to be in God or gods or the universe or The Flying Spaghetti Monster. It can be in yourself. Failing all of those options, it could be faith in your desperation to get the fuck out of Rock Bottom.

I know I am rambling. Forgive me and please understand that this is as much for my own healing than it is to spread some sort of hope to the people.

I read a really good article by EC Myers on TerribleMinds and that is to do with Dystopian worlds and how they are a mirror of the way our current world is travelling. And it made me think of all this stuff.

We are often trying to do so much for the greater good or for others that we fo not take the time to look at our own stuff. Or we are so caught up in Rock Bottom that we forget about the big crazy world around us.

Both are provlems but they are fixable and the strategies are sort of the same.

Pick a goal. Head for that goal. Stop for nothing.

Choose small, easy to reach goals and then once you have completed that goal then pick another.

If your goal is to “become a rich and famous author,” that’s a fucking hard goal. Start small. “I’m going to write a book. I’m going to write said book 500 words at a time.”

Or, if you are new to Rock Bottom, you could start smaller. “I’m going to get out of bed today.” “I am going to take a shower today.” “I will eat something other than coffee or rum or chocolate … maybe not instead of but as well as.”

My psychologist had set the goal for me to “get my life back on track.” I told her, “first, I need to build a track because I fear that I never really had one.” And if I did have a track then it was one of those ones that kids play with, you know, the wooden ones that click together.

If you made it this far, (congrats and thank you!) then you may be as broken as I am. If you are, you are not alone. Remember that broken bones heal, broken people heal, it is possible to come back from Rock Bottom stronger than you were before.

Just remember, you are still breathing.

Love,

Amberley.