How do i tap into my potential

Whisper a song so sweet, it plays like a melody upon my veins. A trumpet inside my heart, and excites every bone in my body. Every pulse, every twitch, every jerk every muscle. It is the magic of delving into a new reality, of  becoming elastic beyond ones comfort zone of accessing great knowledge and great change. I dive into this network of new creative splendour, the architect to my own wonderment, hoping to dazzle my reflection, and awe at the change.

Short story excerpt:Once Upon

It was an ancient thought which arose him from a dusky sleep, the fear of living a life less satisfied, unfulfilled, dreamer with itching Bones. As Alex Rossi glared at the blue scape of Ocean his eyes dotting the fish which jumped out like ballerina's a thought crossed his mind. Once upon a time, he had been a beast of a man, a flyer who made life itself afraid. He had been a champion of a man who set sturdy goals leaving not even the spine of them to Marvel at, yet the loss of his dearest had deconstructed it all. What makes up the foundations of a fortress of a man, this lion, this Kingsman, when his heart is in the other realm. It was that doctor and her lazy tone, the one with the Midnight hair, and the chestnut brown eyes framed by astute bookish glasses. "Suicide," she had said, the word he wished was smoke in the air. There were days where the ache of longing made him glare at the cocktail of medicines on his desk, when he'd lay in bed for hours wishing he was curled up to her long aristocratic frame. Wishing he could watch her move like a shadow cat across the room once again, her thick Afro hair, her dimpled brown eyes, and the calm of her smile. When had she stopped smiling, when had he stopped listening, and how did she keep that secret for so long? He would take care of it, he would take care of all Sylvia's messes, he shook himself out of the stupor, he would be great in memory of her and turn her foundation into something spectacular. The guilt had eaten him for years, of his affairs, her affairs, the projects they should have been fixing but when two broken glass people come together it can be a puzzle with missing pieces. Alex pulled the hood over his head from the white sweatshirt. Opened his yellow flask and just as he reached to take a sip of the iced tea he'd packed, he felt it then. The frame of a gun, pressing against the back of his head, and a silky voice transport him back to another reality. "Hello Alex," she spoke , her Russian accent polished, the quiver in her voice barely audible,"Remember me?"

Countering the Fear

We dissolve ambition when we use fear words. Words such as can't, impossible, or when we engage our highest self with a mediocre mind. If it was easy everybody would be doing it,but it can be broken down with bitesized challenges. You can face the fear with fight, strategy and execution. It is a game of mind over matter, you must allow yourself to fail, lose, time again, allow yourself to make sacrifices, to experience the sadness of not fitting in because you want something different because you are different now. You are birthing a new dream. You are layering a path for yourself with positive affirmations, a plan, and the belief that you can, and you will.

Splendour in the war

There is a splendour of words used to isolate the dreamer. Others will laugh some will crucify you for daring to believe you could be more. You should want more, you could have more. It is a conversation in your head and in your heart, you are investing in your future and in the paths of the generations that come after you when you resist the decadent musings of others. The need to conform to others stereotypes and invisible rules, to be a self that suits everyone else but you. Whatever the mind can concieve, it can achieve, with plans in place. Goals a strategy, and consistency. Do not assassinate your dreams with the fear of others. Those who can't, will tell you it's impossible because they let fear feed them foibles from its table. Crumbs of a life, they were told would satisfy them, and when you open your mouth to speak, they find themselves wanting.  To rebirth a dream from the plain of unfamiliar things, let it command with lions gait, and sit upon a throne of jewels, you must remember that you are the captain of your ship. You must steer your ship into the right course,it's fuel must be consistency with words and actions.

Goals and gravitas

Breathe.just.Breathe I mentally pace myself each morning before I face a goal, knowing that nuggets of fear turn into procrastination. I am my own worst enemy at times, yet I am also my greatest strength. During times of dire need, you must remember the words you used to propel yourself forward before. Pace yourself, understanding that although every action has a ripple of consequences, the right choices consistently will carry you upon a tide of glory. Believe that when you fail, you are learning, allow yourself the chance to be taught by Life.

Life is a ruthless teacher, she is stubborn in her classroom, diligent, and thorough. Although the strife may slice through you like a blade, comb through you as though you are strands of loose hair, you must understand that every lesson comes with trials. Tests of your character. How much are you willing to invest in yourself, how much gravitas do your words have?

The abundant mind

In my life, in your lifetime...people will doubt you, people will celebrate you, and some will come out to destroy. You must build for yourself a second skin, you must celebrate the triumph of rising every morning from the slumber of negativity, the hindrances of the past, glaring at your reflection in the mirror and saying with pride... I am still here. From Goliath i am a David. Agile, tactical, able to predict the chaos of a tempest that arises before you, flexible and distinct, wise from past experiences and adaptable. There will be days where you will feel like a crushed beetle in sand, and others where you will be a panther in a jungle, life is full of contrasts. You are a complex self, always no matter what stresses arise keep your goals in your pocket. Taste the vision on your tongue, rebirth it with your lips everyday as you face your reflection, for this is your life and from what you can remember, you have but one. Make it special, prove beyond a doubt to the self that has been denied so much, that it will have access to a splendour of magnificence.Abundant spirit, abundant mind, abundant life.

The promise of perspective

When you change your thoughts, you change your perspective. I am there with you. Wherever you are, whether you are trudging through the snow, weeping on your way back from a bad situation, discontent in your skin, trying to figure life out like an arithmetic equation, i understand the frustration about the self you want to become and the struggle you arise from. Each morning words chisel to the bone. Dialogue like acid tearing away at the person you are becoming, you are not alone. I was mad for so many years, why wont they let me be happy, all these others and their piggy back problems, those people who loathe the varying versions of themselves. Yet i continued to listen to their words, whispers that would plant granite in my eardrums like stones making me deaf to hearing my own potential. It is not what others tell you, it is who you know you are that counts. This self is no fixed metal, we are liquids, shape shifting in time. Love yourself, and the person you are evolving into. Feed this soul, knowledge, wisdom, the educated words of great leaders, those who have met your challenge and walked away with their head held high and their confidence like a tattoo on their breast. Change your thoughts about yourself, write statements that build you up. I am learning, i am growing, i am seeking, i am building, i am growing, i am possibility, i am infinite, and you will access progress and a season of productive change.

The dungeons

It was the wayward ones that requested for life to begin. Asking questions of a life that paralyzed them. They wanted so much more than this, and as the world belched out, the pain of promise yet to arrive, held them in a state of captivity. It was done, and it was questionable, Menelik hated playing hero to young girls who were starved of all their dreams. Girls who took a wrong turning in life’s obstacle course and here he was, the defender, the protector, the healer of all wounds deep. He lit the Cigarette, felt the Tobacco swell on his insides, he gulped and swallowed hard, as he wrestled with discomfort in the seat of the green Toyota. “Why do you hate being a detective, so much?”

“Because I have my own life to save.” He glanced briefly at Vivien Marx, he hated her idealism on most days, but today, she was the worst version of herself. All sunshine and daisies. It was too much for a Monday morning Stretch.

“I just think…” she began, then ran long fingers through the folds of spaghetti tendrils. She’d dyed her hair Midnight black; she always did that when work was heavy. Her hair usually a brilliant auburn would be transformed, but the eyes are always magnifying glass of the soul. Their soft brown would light with a tear, and protectively she would raise the collar of her leather jacket, as though it were hiding her from the world. 

“ You change my perspective, and yours is drugged by misery,” she uttered

“Forgive me for having seen too much in my 32 years of living,” Menelik countered. “Forgive me for not buying into your pity Mel,” she snatched the cigarette from the comfort of his fisted mouth. Stubbed it, “you promised you’d stop smoking.” They shared a glance for a five second stretch, her smile was hypnotic, her gaze like a touch to him. Menelik released a lazy smile. “You know Mel if I wasn’t so crazy about you,”

“But you are….”

He nodded, a nod meant back to business. “So you think this guy killed her.”

“Dianne Fahilla mysteriously disappears, completely out of character, right after she publishes the book revealing Aztec International’s dodgy ventures. They market themselves as a clean corporation, she knew a lot of powerful people, and she pissed of a lot of powerful people.”

 

The stiff March of the Conqueror

They came for you and yet here you stand venturing into the new year with a smile on your face and you may not be gliding yet. It is a stiff march, but this walk of yours, this gait, has potential to ease into a silky glide. Many of us have been destroyed and reconstructed during the year, fragments of an old self, lying in clusters in old clothes before the mirror. We prepare the sheen of our new self, a uniform smile to face the world, a mental check, we are still here, after the breakup, the jealous friends tried to tear you down, the hierarchical games at work, the put down from strangers or just not feeling good enough in our skin. Believe you are worthy of love in 2018, believe this new year will bless you with change, access, and progress. You are what you believe in, believe in yourself in 2018.

The fog of others

It's easy to let others tell you who you can become. For years I was bullied out of my own skin by a coward who loathed himself. We trust the wrong people to love us, we trust the wrong people to build us up when we're vulnerable, because we're too fragile to build ourselves up. As I was laughed at , and ridiculed, put down, humiliated,by a guy who spent years afraid of his own shadow, I realised the most sacred lesson I should have learned. I kept reaching out for love for friendship, but self is love, and family is network. It is important to know who you are and where you come from,otherwise people who are weaker, who have failed themselves will use you as a crutch as a platform to build up an identity of strength. The guy who bullied me for years spent years dragging his face across the pavement, he could barely hold his own shoulders up. Now I think of the humiliation he caused me, the false friends he gathered whilst doing it, and I can only laugh, because I see so much clearer now. Once upon a time through his fog of insults I couldn't see at all.

Pots of gold through pain

We wait for pots of gold to collide with the practice of pain. I am in the midst of it, we say, there should be something for this chaos , this mess, that I can't seem to rectangle myself from. This upset. This is madness we shriek, it's not fair. Who told you, that life plays fair. Many of us come out of the womb thinking that life is a fair battlefield, that someone else's chaos is separate to yours. We watch the news, click the screen off, it's faraway, it's distant. Truth is, we are all connected. To even up the score , to play your own makestic round, I will say what I say time and again, use your mind. The mind is the most powerful asset in the world, utilise your time. You and a millionaire, a billionaire have one thing in common, this is a message that someone else taught me. You have 24 hours. 24 hours. How will you use your 24 hours, how will you use that time? What questions do you ask? What problems do you solve? If you slip into a mighty depression and simply believe you are the problem.....this is a problem. You have a purpose, train your mind to find it, and face the challenges that come with it.

Soaring high

It's easy to give up, it's easy to quit. You have no other option, but to keep going. To just breathe, inhale, exhale and say one day , I will have my day. This day comes with the actions I take, the persistence I have, the platform I build and the focus. It is easy to let others wear you down systematically, their cruelty, their malice, their envy, yet stay in your own lane, on your own path, your focus will be your path to freedom. Excite yourself with vision , hope and take heed that you are more than potential, don't let fear pursue you to the end of a chipped cliff. You have options, you have dreams, you have skills, utilise them. Let other people pick you apart if that's the only way they can validate themselves, let them muse themselves with their own contempt, you are soaring and flying high, one day you will land on safe comfortable ground.

Fifty shades of digitisation

I read somewhere that first drafts are like scooping sand into a bucket, so later on you can build sand castles. Thank-you Instagram. That helped so much. Many of you know I have been working on my series of novels for #deliciousDecember which I am extremely excited about. It's my opportunity to challenge that creative part of myself which sees the blank page and is absolutely horrified. There's nothing more frustrating than a barren page, or for me a pen which bears no fruit. This morning I endured another dose of #fiftyshadesofgrey, wow that film is sinfully hot. Would have liked to watch it with some butterscotch popcorn and some Bailey's😇,but enjoyed it none the less. I love the sexual tension and the chemistry between the two characters. What I love more though is the marketing behind fifty shades, how it was publicised and the fact that it was vanity publishing. I believe in this new age of evolving digital technology and independent authors there is much to learn.

The four billion hit challenge: Tune in

Four billion hits this is my goal for redebony this month,so those of you who are fans of the site, tune in, I plan to fail my way to success.  As a creative we need that daily dose of motivation,inspiration,and drive,i was flicking through my collage of manuscripts and looking at ways to channel creativity. Ideas are delicious things but we falter at the wake of them, terrified to implement action to those goals we put in place. Procrastination creeps in like a seductive odour charming us away with delicious fear. What is ailing you about your latest project? What is creating the block? Are you a perfectionist? A lot of people announce this as though it is something to be proud of, they tell you to announce it in interviews so you can get the job, we often think it makes us sound smarter,more organised, yet the reality is....some of the most stagnant people in our society,and the most successful are perfectionist. There are two sides of a very shiny coin. Perfectionism is also about anxiety, clack of confidence and procrastination. Believe in what you can do and take bold steps towards it.Redebony

Inviting a dream

I thought to myself this morning it must be a very frustrating thing to be a dream, to have such a future awaiting you, traveller, yet your means of transport lacks the fuel to give you the rebirth you require. It is a season for dreams to usher us in and whisper the deliciousness of their adventures. For them to be able to pitch themselves and auction their beauty for sale. For your mind, I will give you your dreams , for your vision I will give you your dreams, for your habits and your discipline, I will give you your dreams. Yet do not fear to be a unique signature on a stamped envelope, the universe demands. Do not fear to hold your colours boldly to the mass stand at the top of the lighthouse and wave for a tired dream to stumble it's way to your golden shores.

Focusing the mind

Life is full of distractions, at no time do you allow it when you've rolled the dice and have figured out the game, to get inside your head. It is a keeper of souls. It claims victims, and those with baggage become casualties of life in this torrid chess game. Your next move should not be to be selfish but to focus on s higher self, on a more intuitive self, that self will guide you, that self will heal you, and remove the clutter of yesterdays pain. It is maddening to believe life claims so many casualties without goals without tasks without plans. Be a keen observer and a lit match when it is time for action. The opportunities that came to you last year may not arrive this year, the story you sold yourself last year may be dysfunctional for this year. This year the conversations may have added up, demanding that you challenge the doubt within, so challenge it. Face it off. It is one of the opponent's blocking your path to a realised dream, doubt procrastination and the inability to focus. Channel the genius and simplicity of those who came before you, buckle down and focus.

Obsession and work

I was listening to a motivational video this morning as I often do to spur me on from writers block, or any negative chi blocks in the morning. The topic was being obsessed. The argument was that as an omnipotent figure in the design of your work, you have to become obsessed with it, consumed by it, go beyond the basic hard work skeleton. You see, a story is formulating already. We are the stories we tell ourselves, the beliefs we have in our potential. If we believe we can produce 2000 more words in the night , this night, we will. The mind is as water it is a free thing, mind and brain are separate. The brain has a structure, a format an organ, the mind is an infinitive. It will take you to where eagles soar, a phoenix laid it's first egg, man mated with sea beast to form the first mermaid, it is wizardry. To not tap into its Pandora, and allow yourself a little of the Jekyll in you, should be identified as self treason. Your life is your mind, the internal dialogue you have within yourself , a rhetoric we hold unto. Yet with the Mozart's, and the Einstein's, and the Marx I recommend we change a little of the conversation, tilt that gate open and let some of that river shimmer out.

Idealisms of love

Yesterday I thought about something so frustrating it baffled me. The ideal of love versus it's realities. Someone I know used to tell me that love itself is chemicals in the brain, signals the body sends, and yet even in my most jaded and awake moments I'd like to believe it's more than that. For me as an author a writer, someone very passionate, id like to believe it is more compelling than this. It is it's own animal, with its own story,and less of the scientific and the biology please. Love is expression, of the highest order of the truest self. We unleash a secret part of ourselves, gated and protected, letting the world creep in. We are both with and without form, a noun and nameless, a print, and an invisible stencil upon someone's heart. When you go through loneliness the ache is so bad, like a starving child in a third world country, you need that human interaction , that depth of conversation, those moments to admire someone separate from you, those moments to let the heat suffocate your sanity. Here's to love and all its madness.

Love as escapism?

Terry and Tommy, funny names for characters in love, but that's where my journey as a writer began...in dreams. When I couldn't get to sleep I used to tell myself bed time stories with these two characters that always fell in love after a series of very complicated events. One of them would hate each other from the start, and then over time they would begin to fall for the strengths and the beauty of one another. I was a hopeless romantic as a child, you couldn't keep me away from the Jude deverauxs, Judith Mcnaught  and my addiction Millsand Boons novels. The characters always met in the middle, the characters always fell in love, and their love consumed the busy pages of my notebooks scattered all around my room. Love has its trials and for me it's trials are the complications of the characters. When I was older I took to inventing my own nuances of love. A 5 ft something fair skinned guy that used to live two streets away from me in the sixth form. I used to scribble love letters to him at the early dawn and directly post them to his letter box, poor guy, beautiful smile. I remember the way his eyes twinkled and the butterflies I felt each time I captured that feeling on the page, then in time, I realised, it was my feeling. It didn't belong to him because he didn't feel such a way, I remember the way he walked commandeering the wind, his jacket slicing through air like a blade. He was a beautiful man, but I think I like Shakespeare have always been in love with the idea of being in love. Maybe if you love someone else for a minute you can escape yourself, after all , your attention is elsewhere. Yet in reality we should develop rather than try to escape.

The complex of inner truths

We tremble at the mercy of a pen, pinched words lost sentences in translation. A brain that is mercilessly stoic at times, we find ourselves engulfed in ideas and questions that keep us circulating hungrily for answers. Where do I see this work going? What is its progression? Who would it appeal to? I have half written up to a thousand books in my head, scribbled them out daintily signed and sealed the manuscripts posting them to some eager editor who awaited with baited breath. In reality I am still challenged by the quirks of constructing a novel, be it fiction or non,manuscripts are masterpieces of the mind, they are gateways into the soul , confiscating curtains which seal and barricade the mind from the truth. What you write may be fiction, but there is a part of it that awakens a sleeping Goliath, truth. Why is truth a Goliath, because in the mind as a writer it is so easily bent and folded, then after being worked and reworked , stands David, a shining reckless parable of complex components, yet a deeper truth. The truth is never hollow. It is founded upon stories that the eye whispers to it, and the ears gossip.