Author Update (October 16)

Hey ya’ll

So I did do an unexpected additional post this month.

And…

The Diary of Elliot Parker is here !!! Yay!!! Excited by this. Very excited.

Well… in other news… My ribs still suck no matter how much I try to pretend like they are not bothering me I can’t say its not bothering me. I am trying to constantly distract myself. But as I am sure you can guess, distraction can only go so far. It would be lovely if the pain would like to take a holiday, a permanent one so that I can at least get a decent nights sleep. It just feels frustrating, especially with the now knowing its going to take months or years to heal. I wish that I could physically throw a tantrum like a 2 year old. You know the kind, the screaming, smashing and fist slamming, leg stomping tantrum. I would love to be able to do that. I want to scream and shout and just release this goddamn frustration and pain. I feel so trapped. I know I haven’t spoken about what happened or the how. Not in any directness. There was a reason for that, I felt very censored and worried about writing anything in depth, and to be honest, the pain was very bitter and it never seemed to improve, so I guess I just couldn’t face writing it. Well its been 7 months. many doctors appointments. many painkillers… its just not budging. I really do want to scream sometimes from the way it feels. I don’t know how anyone who has to feel like this or worse or deal with the pain and just be constantly trucking, I have no idea how anyone does it, but I have total respect from them.

Other news?

My awesome and incredibly patient guitar teacher is teaching me “Thinking Out Loud”. He is great and very patient with me. He deserves a medal. While trying to learn is a good distraction, it is uncomfortable to put it politely, but, the little things, like practicing, would really help if I could do it, even a little few minutes semi regularly.

The dog is good, for anyone who has been wondering, he’s still very naughty but very lovely and cuddly.

Gotta give some props for the tattoo shop that lets me go in and sit on their sofas every so often if I am in town and need a break in a quiet corner to sure myself up for the next stage of whatever it is I have to get done that day. They are used to the odd days when I go in and just need to sit for a while, normally I am out of breath, dizzy and in a lot of pain and they just let me sort of get to a point of being able to get moving again, they are very cool. Nice and chatty and I do always recommend them to anyone I meet. They are lovely. I know it probably breaks some bizarre stereotype. But stopping somewhere out in the open or whatever does make you feel very exposed when you feel very vulnerable, it’s not very nice to feel very self conscious in a public place because you aren’t feeling very well.

Anything else I missed?

Obvious plug for The Diary of Elliot Parker? Hmmn…. CHECK IT OUT!

There that’s the plug done.

Time to plug the pre-order link…

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

Have fun.

I just want to remind you that there are books that are open, and available to you. So here is the link to my amazon author page, why not see if something takes your fancy. (Psst- got a secret for ya… The Diary of Elliot Parker will be arriving there soon 😉 hehe)

May luck and adventure be on your side!

ARA xxx

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The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Eight :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

One of my best friends is a bitch. But that is ok. It is, because, I am one too. But I am more than just that. I am so much more.

I was nervous today. I sent something to my friend, a glimpse of my new work. A little something, that I have been working on, not nearly as much as I should be. Anyway, so I sent a sneaky look through to Jonas. I wanted his opinion. And to be quite frank and honest I respect his opinion a tonne more than I would do of Clover’s thoughts on the matter. And for a guy who is a little withdrawn when it comes to praise, I was ecstatic to receive a message saying “I like the style. It is good, I like it.”

Yeah sure I know it sounds underwhelming to be ecstatic about; but he only gives praise when it’s hard earned.

Honestly, the man is a bloody enigma to me. For a girl who knows how to read people, he can still surprise me. Not because I don’t think he could do something, but because I want to be surprised. Because I want to hear the stories. Not because it’s a story, not because I want to know him inside and out, not because it’s when he tells me something new I get excited and find him even more interesting than normal. I love that he is someone that I am still reading that I am learning to read. Much, much quicker. I know there are some that I can read in an instant. I can know a reaction or what it is they are trying to hide when they lie without meaning to. That is the thing. I can read Jonas, fairly well, but it is only fairly well because, I don’t want to be able to read him as well as some. Not because I don’t like him. But because I think he likes it when he shows someone that he isn’t the guy that people expect him to be.

I can relate to that. I stopped wanting to fit in, to be what people expect me to be. That’s fine. It is fine by me if people judge me to be something I am not. Because the something that I am can hide safely. The knowledge I garner from appearing the shy unassuming type is great. The quiet and apparently seemingly incompetent type. I love it. I love being what people never anticipate.

I am Elliot Parker. I bring change. I am a deliberate creator.

I am so thankful that while I cannot speak it in so many words to Jonas, he just sort of knows that I am a quirky bundle of layers. He never demands explanation for anything seemingly random that I say.

He somehow knows it’s not as random as it seems.

My timing seems to be great though, I just seem to know when there is a dip in his energy. I somehow just seem to know the perfect time to tell him that I think he is great. Just when he needs the little pick-me-up.

See that’s another little problem you see. I seem to perform many little rescues during these dips in the moods, in the overall energy of the people I care about. I know their energies from hundreds of miles away, their unspoken thoughts that are troubling them. I know that I need to ask this specific question, or that one. It can be tricky. Because while I have this energy, this sense of knowing the truth of their energy that they are trying to hide, sometimes they are clinging to pretending it’s not there. But it is, both sides of the interaction know it’s there and my acknowledgement of it is not always welcome. But here I am.

I am always there, always listening, to the spoken and unspoken.

When it first started happening, that uneven energy, that need to speak the energy and to bring about a higher better energy, well I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know when the right time to say something was in perfect timing. It took a bit of time to adjust to and well that is when things got harder. Because I still don’t have it quite perfect. But I know, I have gathered some control over it. I know that I will keep getting better at it. I hate it at times, I can feel a lie before it’s even delivered. Friends and loved ones, they can’t hide and they often know that. But strangers, they have no idea that I already know.

But if I can bring about the better feeling energy how I do, I understand why I am turned to, why I am expected to make things at least feel better. I understand that. That is where the potential comes from though. I am in the position that if I can pin point a weak or negative energy I can change it, for better or worse. That is where the conscience takes over. Why it has to take over. Because, it is something I should not be consciously choosing, the choice on instinct is good, but that doesn’t mean my own energy doesn’t come into play. If I feel anger or agitation, that can change just how effective I am at bringing good change to someone else, their thoughts and energy.

That is why, my mental health, that is exactly why I have to be very careful. I have to choose the better feeling, healthier, happier choices all the time, consciously, because the faltering energy can easily become reflected in my own, from empathy or whatever you want to call it; but through that natural energy, it feels worse, it becomes easier to soak negative energies like a sponge. That is where my fear of being bad and doing bad comes from. My ability was weaker the first time. Now it is stronger, I have to be stronger.

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Seven :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

It happened again. I fell asleep, ok, I was tired and I had a nap, and I had that dream. I wasn’t prepared. I never know when to expect that dream, but there it was.

After climbing the rigging to the bird’s nest and looking out across the sea, being flung back into that room felt warm and safe again. Somehow feeling sea sick and adrenaline fuelled lingered as I wandered around the room. Running my fingers over books that felt so comfortingly familiar that I could curl up in a ball and read story after story until the light faded and the night ended.

It took a while to remember, to focus enough to remember the objects that I wanted, a pen and a notebook. I did it though. One of each. With the summoning of an energy I didn’t quite know, I did it.

It was a little spiral bound jotter notebook, with thin paper. The pen, just the average biro. The ink glistened, it was black but it had an eerie quality. I wrote the only words I could think of. “I am a deliberate creator.” In my tidiest hand-writing, which was a bit of a miracle. I tucked the pen into the spiral and left the open page exposed on the first shelf I am always drawn to. I just needed it to stay there, to not get dislodged. So I changed my mind, I pinned it in place with the little trinket box that I found the thimble and tiny clothes inside.

I didn’t stay in the dream beyond hoping that the notebook would stay in place. I was pulled rather unceremoniously into the waking world. The dream world fading like sand falling through the cracks.

And then it was gone. I felt myself pulled back to reality; kicking, screaming and sullen. I didn’t want to be awake.

The phone buzzing obnoxiously next to my head, that was the rude awakening.

So very uninvited.

My name Is Elliot Parker.

That damn Clover Rayder bitch woke me up. Do not wake me up from a good dream and expect a nice hello. Everyone knows that.

Clover however her call was pretty much pointless. I didn’t learn anything I didn’t already know. Stan had told me that he told her that he has a crush on her. What I didn’t know, or want to know was her response.

After all, it is none of my business, no matter how much they seem to think it is. Just because I was stupid enough to introduce them. But that is ok, not because I want it to be, but because it has to be.

That is what they don’t tell you. Or perhaps it is what they tell you if you can read between the lines. A perfect life doesn’t exist. But making thousands of mistakes does. And the more mistakes you make you want to ask yourself one question. What did I learn? A better question is, have I made this mistake before? Why did I repeat it? What will stop me from repeating it?

That is when things get hard. And no, that is not a dirty joke.

Clover woke me up to tell me something important to her. It was important for her to tell me, she had what she wanted. A new consistent source of attention. An established crush. Harder to break, trickier to mess with. But still feeble enough that it can be unwound and destroyed if I chose to do it. Though I doubt she understands that that is what I interpreted her excitement as. Her excitement surface bound was “omg he likes me” another one to add to her list. Another poor soul from the tone of her voice and conversation likely to end up on the train tracks of the trail of broken hearts following after her.

I made a mistake. Introducing them. Waking up. Answering the phone. All of it a bit of a giant error.

But that’s ok. Its ok.

I don’t want this to be under my control. I want her to do it of her own reasoning. Not my adjustments, if that’s what we can call them. I want her to choose a decent guy, go for a decent guy and build a solid, healthy relationship. Even if it is with Stan.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I want to go back to sleep. I want to dream that dream again. I want to find out, I have to find out if someone else can get to that room.

But I can’t go to sleep. Can’t or won’t.

My nap has been interrupted and so has that dream. I want to go back and I need to, but there is not enough time left.

There is so much to do and so little time. If it wasn’t for the dreaming and the sleeping and the whole, you know, having a life thing I would be further than I am at the moment. I would have plotted more rather than sat here fantasising. Obsessing with that damn room. I mean, a dream is just a dream, right? Nothing more? But I just have the feeling that is wrong.

I can’t even begin to find a way to prove what I know.

Somehow, I know that Clover is going to end up with Stan, maybe not right away, but I know it. Somehow it just feels like, she might just listen to what I have said and give him a decent chance. She might. I hope she does. He is sweet and kind. She could do with just having the one boy who treats her well and shows her how true affection, love and care, she should know what that is like. Stan could give her that. I want that for her. The fairy story that she wants more than anything. Her prince charming. He could do that. He could be that, for her.

The pre-order link is available now… Due to release 14th January!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MG21QLX

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Six :.

My name is Elliot Parker and I am a bitch.

It is true. So the whole avoiding Clover plan. That failed. I saw her. I hate her, kind of, I wish I really hated her, it’s hard. He likes her. Of course he does. I am the girl who gets friend zoned and she is the girl that gets the guys. The damsel in distress. And I am the one that is dependable, the one that looks after everyone else. I don’t know why I am letting this bother me. I am used to it. The girl who is the kooky, funny friend.

I am annoyed because he has genuine feelings for her, though he calls it a crush, and she is absorbing attention from other guys like she is a sponge. A decent guy and he’s still not her main focus. She goes to me to give it a shot with him even though we all know it’s her he wants and he has said as much. It’s frustrating. I have never set her up to fail. But it seems to be fun for her to set everyone else up to fail. The other guys she’s talking to but not really interested in, the ones she is leading on even though she “doesn’t really want a relationship with them”. Like seriously! I find a decent guy, she miraculously hits it off with him and becomes the guy she gets the most attention from that has a crush on her that is a good guy. I mean come on. Give a girl a break. Not all of us can play the sweet little damsel routine, some of us know how to survive in this world for real, without using it as a reason to be a victim of circumstance.

ARGH! It is so infuriating.

Look I am sorry. I am an awful friend. I am just… it’s annoying. She makes a big old show of it and rubs it in my face all the damn time… like really? WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? Making a show of talking to him? And other guys hounding you… that’s like so classy…

My name is Elliot Parker, the queen of the friend zone.

I need to not be mad about the friend zone. I mean, I am, but I don’t have to be. They say great relationships can come from close friends. And with he who shall not be named, the friendship was just as on fire as the electricity and chemistry between us. That’s fine. I want that feeling again. That being drawn to someone feeling. The magnetism.

Clover seems to have some kind of magnetism. But her mind, that’s an easy to fuck with toy. It is. Just say things and the right way and you know you have cracked her by the smile that gives her away.

My super power? I read people like a book. Because I am a reader. Because I am a writer. Because I have no choice, I am a deliberate creator. How do you create without knowing the tools you have at your disposal? The answer? Messily. Most people, their intuition is a little voice or a slight suggestion. Mine might as well hold a megaphone to my ear and be screaming at me. That’s how this all began really. My intuition got louder. Harder to ignore. But when I began to listen, I was in the right place at the right time most of the time. I started to see the things that I needed to see. The world sort of yielded more opportunities to learn a bit more each time. The more I listened the clearer the intuition was. Before long, that was all I followed, it became almost an animal instinct, a drive to do a certain thing at a certain moment. It can be pretty hard to ignore; it feels unbearable to ignore. It feels like a physical pain when I ignore a tiny notion that seemingly would have no value, no use.

You see that same intuition, that’s telling me that Clover is playing a game. She is dangling the situation on a stick to get a response. To get a reaction. To find a reason to look like a victim, again. To have something she can use to garner attention.

That is the real reason I find it so irritating, because I know what it is she really wants. And I don’t want to give her what she wants anymore.

My name is Elliot parker, and I am not the girl I used to be.

For a long time, I caved in and gave people what they wanted from me. When I started saying “no”, people didn’t like the change. I had become someone else. My existence didn’t serve them anymore. It took a long time for that “no” to take effect. It took a long time to draw power from that first “no”. It is not a badge of honour. It is not a badge of pride. It is the first step, the first start to getting control of my life, to gaining control of myself.

People have two reactions to something they don’t understand; get rid of it, or, how do I use it and control it. Once that first no started relinquishing me from being controlled. That is when things became messy. Truly, messy. See all the times I had been lead to believe that I wasn’t good enough, that I had no potential. They were being proved wrong. All those words, that conditioning, the chains were being broken, because step by step and moment by moment I began to unlock what the conditioning had blocked me from. My natural abilities, my natural skills and talents.

Unlocking them one by one made the voice of intuition louder, my conscience stronger. And my understanding of all that I knew of the world faltered as I unlearned everything and began to learn who and what I really am.

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Five :.

My name might just happen to be Elliot Parker.

I might just be in a good mood… I might have had that dream again. Ok, yeah, I am even irritating myself.

But hey. I had that dream again!

I love that room. Being there, it changes everything.

The smell of the old books. I tried Peter Pan’s thimble on… it was shiny and cold but it was pretty. I made it to the bird’s nest this time. It was so high up I almost forgot to breathe. Coming back to the room, it was warmer, that is for sure. The books have stayed more in focus and sharper since the last time. The room still smells like books. I wanted to sit down this time, but I couldn’t quite envision what I wanted to sit on. So I sat on the floor. Still that was new it was a change. The floor was rough and dusty but I found a little corner and propped myself against a bookshelf or two and ran my fingers down the spines of the books nearby. Some looked as though they had never been opened, they looked like they should never be opened. Others looked so well worn that you could just tell they had been read and loved so many times. I tried to picture who else read these books. If anyone else could read these books. If anyone else could use my room here in this world. It was mine, but sometimes things seemed to have been moved just slightly, a little more to the left or right of where I thought I had put them before. Of course, this room once it appeared, it was never tidy. So perhaps it was just what happens when the books come through the floor. Perhaps that’s just where they jiggle and land.

It felt a bit silly to be hopeful that someone else might have been here and experienced some of the amazing things that could and do happen in this room. The other stories that are in here. Do I really share this space, my space with anyone? Probably not. But it didn’t exactly feel good that someone else probably could, if they really wanted to, find themselves in this place. This is my private place. The idea, however hopeful, still felt violating.

My name is Elliot Parker. And after all, this is my dream. This room, these stories, and challenges, they are mine!

So what if I am possessive? It’s my secret place that I have never seen but I know this place it has to be real. Dreams don’t feel this tangible, not really. Dreams don’t let you change things.

That’s it! That is how I might know if I share the room. I could change something. I need something next time I have this dream again. I need a, something, if I could create a note book and pen, I could write something. But what? What can I possibly write?

Dreams aren’t meant to be changed it might not work.

But it will work. It will work because I want it to.

If I can climb the rigging on that ship swinging back and forth with the waves, if I can get to the top and reach that damn bird’s nest… I can change something in this room. I can do something in this room. Probably just something small. If I keep changing it, even incrementally I can get more control, more strength, I can do more things.

I already changed something in the real world from the empowerment I garnered here. I can do something in this dream from the empowerment I garnered and I can change something again and get more control.

It can be done.

I will do it.

I am so tired. But sleep, that is something that will have to wait.

I am Elliot Parker, I had a dream again. And now, I want to change it.

The clothes, that felt easy. It felt deliberate. What I choose has to be deliberate. It has to be what I want. On more than one scale. It has to spread through every thought to become a conscious choice, a conscious thought. A conscious thought in an unconscious world. Is that even possible? It shouldn’t be. But I am the girl. I am the girl and I love the impossible-ness that I am. If I can do anything change anything, maybe I can find out what this room is. If someone else goes there. If they do, I can find out who they are, in the waking world. If someone else shares that space, maybe just maybe I could find a way to bring someone else into that world.

I did it before, by accident through anxiety. But it is not possible for them to be aware of what this is if they even know or remember. I wouldn’t want to ask anyway. It’s not the kind of thing you can ask someone that you don’t get on with that you just resigned your job with. That’s not cool.

But what is cool is that I changed it. If I can harness whatever focus brought the change.

That’s it, it’s the change itself. I keep thinking about the change and the cause, the anxiety. But it’s the change it made to me, how it made me feel. That empowerment, it wasn’t a fleeting emotion. It lasted. It lasted through waking up, it provided the courage and empowerment to make a choice for my own self. It touched the real world. It changed me, now this dream can change to. I can take control of it, surely just on the premise that I know it can be done? That should be how it works right? If I follow my instinct, it will help me do what I want to do. What I need to do. What I must do to find out how the hell this all works.

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Four :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I am now, unemployed. So I did it. I quit my job. I had to. It was killing me, emotionally and physically.

I have experienced many forms of extreme stress. But this was different. This was the kind of stress that drains your body until you feel like a dead weight from dawn till dusk. This was the kind of stress that made you feel emotionally crippled and drained and so full of anxiety that it slipped into your dreams every night and ate you up there too. This was the kind of stress that pushed my mental health to its limits and sent me back to my counsellor.

People call me strong. This place, it made me feel weak. I have survived so much already, so much more than I should have. I don’t know how, but I lost my whole-ness. I felt less than half alive. I feel less than half alive still. Though that has more to do with the incomprehensible pain that is plaguing every moment. See in the real world. I have damaged a muscle or two. I am recovering, but it is slow progress. But in the world that matters to me, basically any other world but this. I am fine and I am healthy.

That’s the thing, about being a deliberate creator, you are always moving towards your desires. I want to be fine, I want to be healthy. So that is what I am, inside.

I resigned, I felt backed into a corner, it was my real power play. Stay and fight for something that was eating my soul alive. Or choose my health and happiness. Not all of my family understood that choice. Not all of my friends did either. I tried my best. And I think, on both sides of the coin, their side and mine, we tried to make it work. But the fit changed because people change and grow.

That’s the thing I have talked about with my counsellor. Growth. I am not the person I was this time last year. I learned the power my thoughts have, and now, I try to choose them wisely. See I know that there is something amazing and wonderful coming. Whether it is him, he who should not be named, or whether it is a break through when it comes to writing. Something impossibly awesome is coming.

See ever the optimist right?

My name is Elliot Parker. I am strong.

I am choosing all these better feeling thoughts. Where I was and where I am screams change. It screams growth. I used to live in my own pain, my focus was the pain and the hurt, and the fresh heartbreak. But now I am thankful for all that it taught me when I thought I couldn’t survive, because look at what happened. I survived. I changed. I have grown and changed so quickly that the emotional distance from the past to now, it feels like a chasm. I can’t go back; it can’t reach me. So yeah, I changed. I grew quickly and the mould that I used to fit into that they needed, I can no longer fit or fill that. That’s ok. I appreciate them for the change that they helped bring about.

I truly appreciate the dreams that it helped foster because all of this really did make one thing very clear to me. My health and my happiness are a priority. I am a priority. It is ok for me to be the priority.

My name is Elliot Parker, today I changed my life.

It’s not an exaggeration. One change fosters another, and that is where the next change appeared. My focus. I did something I haven’t been able to do in so long. I sat and read a book, the whole of my conscious day. I read a book, and I let myself enjoy it. No analysis. I told myself off for guessing the plot because I just wanted to read it and enjoy it. Just like I used to. Before this became my life. Before the power of suggestion, before the power of deliberate creation took over my life.

Today I suggested to the universe, not anything particular, just this one phrase “today, I want a good, happy energy to flow through me. I want a day of ease and peace.” Sure it had its moments. But as a whole it was delivered. Only the right interruptions made it through.

Ok, so I can’t call Jonas an interruption, unless I add a word. Jonas is a welcome interruption. While he may be a fountain of wisdom, he is also a fountain of humour and laughter. When I am told I did something good or great by him it honestly makes my day, because I know he means it sincerely. With some people, you can just tell. Want to know a secret? Jonas, he is an inspiration. Because he is an inspiration, he might, well actually he does appear in my stories. He can be pretty easy to spot if you know who you are looking for. And with the story I am planning… Jonas, he is a great curveball to change the direction and flow of the story.

My name is Elliot Parker.

I am addicted to stories, in particular, this damn book I’m reading. It’s so hard not to say “I know what’s going to happen, the plot is obvious”. But that is the problem I can say that about life. That is why I have been sort of, kind of, maybe, just a little bit, avoiding Clover. I’m sorry. I really am. But I know she is happy, she is getting on with a really good guy. And that is the problem. I am doing my best to resist spite. Proximity and exposure to Clover will not help me remain in control of my words. It will not help me create something good or great. It will not help me change the world in the right way.

Its been a year!

Yes that is right it was an anniversary!

This site has gone from a hosted blog to a domain blog. It has been a year since arappleby.com became a thing on the internet.

I am not sure how many of you are aware? Well on the very day I got really excited and happy. And do you know what, I am so happy, I am so eager and excited every day that this site is a thing, that this website is a place. My place, where my writing is here, the good the bad and the ugly.

Its an example of the worst of my writing and an example of the things that I really enjoy writing. It is all so blooming amazing for me as a writer, because while I don’t really watch my numbers/views/downloads etc it is still exciting for me to have this place to write in, whatever it is I want to write. Projects and so on exist on this site. Ideas that possibly would have been abandoned, probably would have been abandoned. It is exciting to have a place that ideas can come and grow and follow whatever path it is they are meant to be. Ideas that would have been abandoned in favor for major, larger projects.

I am excited that I get to say how excited I am for the new project, The Diary of Elliot Parker.

I know that its been a while since I have been posting, a good few years now, but it has been an exciting year, and the site has changed so much. Especially as the link has gone from being a branch on a site to being its own thing. I am so excited by this.

I love writing. And while at first I found this site hard to write for, I found it really hard. There were times where I struggled with the identity of this site, what I wanted it to be, what vision I had for the site. But now I am quite content and excited to be moving forward with this site, it really has become enjoyable. I love writing here, I love creating projects that keep growing and The Diary of Elliot Parker is a prime example of the corners of my mind that doesn’t often see the light of day, though that is true of very many things but this is quite the change that I enjoy writing. I love how the Diary of Elliot Parker is morphing as I write it so I am excited for what is to come and here is to another year of arappleby.com

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Three :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I had the dream, again.

It always happens the same, no matter where I am, what I am doing. I can be pulled away without my knowing. At first I didn’t understand.

I appeared in the room, dusty, crumbling, bare. Exposed brick work, floorboards. It looked unassuming, uninviting and downright shabby. Then it happens, the dust of the brick sort of crumbles to the floor. The floor ripples and rumbles and crumbles away. The wood breaks apart. Then they shoot up. Old, antique, battered bookshelves. They pop up from the tears in the floor. And there they are. Volumes and volumes of stories. Some have matching leather bound covers. Others, like this one have yellowed pages and faded covers, bent spines. They are loved.

When this first started, I would open a cover and begin to read the story, when I did that, I got so immersed, literally. I would be pulled into the story and, Robin’s he was the first. I had to climb his ships rigging to go up to the bird’s nest. I HATE HEIGHTS. But I got pulled back out before I completed his little challenge. Turns out I was just simply a stow away in his story. There are worse things to be.

Have you ever been hated by an author or writer? A little tip and guidance, never wrong a writer, we get our revenge in print. I am just as guilty. There are people in my stories I base on people I know or have met. Oh boy do I love hurting those characters.

ANYWAY… moving swiftly on.

My own anxiety slipped into this dream once. I was having lots of problems with work. A boss that I have a particular issue with burst through the door and started to yell at me. I kept telling myself that this is a dream. I can change a dream, surely I can? I know most people can’t but I can because I am me and I am strong. I can do this. I did it. I told her to leave, suddenly my comfortable sleepwear (leggings and a vest top) disintegrated and transformed. I had black jeggings on, a black lace vest top and black crop top underneath so a tiny hint of my tattoo was visible, and my favourite biker jacket. I told her to leave and the look on her face was priceless. She wanted to fight me. My own anxiety and agitation wanted to fight back and cripple me in a dream. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t want it to win. Not again. When she left I noticed that the room was becoming clearer. More in focus.

The print of the title in the books was clearer, a little less soft on the edges. The leather bound books, the ones gilded in gold, the embossing, it became more tangible. The whole of the room had more texture. It had a smell. The air had the smell. That old book smell. There was a painting on the wall. For now, it just looked like the sea. But that was fine. The dream had become more real.

But this was new. I had more control. I was in control. I wanted a good dream, here it was. I had asked for a good dream before I fell asleep. And now, my dream was becoming clearer. I was pushing it forward, pushing the dream to progress to grow more. This change, the bleeding of my real life anxiety into my special place, my happy place this was new. And it had to mean something. Perhaps the intention I had entering my sleeping world was growing. Perhaps the inclination and the strength I have been summoning wasn’t just an “in the dream world” kind of thing. This was an adventure that I was asking for. This was a world that I had control in when I shouldn’t. I was breaking the rules.

That is when the phrase “you are a deliberate creator” began to make sense. I had heard it before. I had been told it before. I had never understood. But here I was in this dream, it had been the same dream for so long that it was a reassuring place, an untouchable safe place for me to just relax and not have to really worry or think. And I had changed it. Something I had never been able to do, I had never been able to turn right instead of left while climbing up the rigging which was something I was curious about, trying more than once if I could do it, just once. But here, I changed something big. I had done something big. I had created the change and then changed it again. I could alter the unalterable. I had done yet another impossible thing. First I had survived in the real world, more than once, something that was meant to but could have destroyed me.

My name is Elliot Parker, and I love to do the impossible.

The dream sort of dissolved while I made sense of it and came back into the waking world. I wanted to cling onto the dream refusing to open my eyes and face the day.

Admittedly, I didn’t get out of bed until the urge to pee was crippling. I kept trying to go back to the dream, but it had slipped through my fingers like sand.

But it was the deciding factor, aside from this dream, I have had nightmares, dreams, whatever they can be called; I have had full blown night terrors about work for so long that I am struggling to remember life without dreaming about work. I am a writer, plagued by dreams about a job that is most certainly not writing. Before this job, I had dreams about my stories, about my characters. Since that job, nothing but terrors of work full of anxiety. It has to stop.

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry Two :.

My name? I am Elliot Parker. And today I made a mistake.

I am an idiot. Ok, no I’m not, but I kind of am. You see. I want my friends to be happy, I really do. But I also want to be happy. These two things, they don’t always go together. I wish they did though. So that stupid thing I did. I sort of introduced my friend to someone that I have what you could call a crush on. Clover is a nice girl really, but she does sort of leave a trail of broken hearts and scorned boys behind her.

It was an accident really. I wasn’t careful. I ended up introducing Clover and Stan; and they hit it off. He’s a good guy, a really good, sweet, kind guy. She needs someone decent, someone who isn’t the average douche bag. That’s where the problem came… I have two choices. I tell Stan about her past and what she really is like towards the men in her life; or, I tell her not to fuck up this time and to make a genuine effort with a good guy. I know what I really wanted to do. To tell him about the last few guys to give her attention. But when she is the best of herself, she could be a good match for him. I came too close to putting a knife in to go for what I wanted.

I didn’t do it.

My name is Elliot Parker. And I put her first.

I told her not to fuck up. This was a good guy. And honestly, it’s not the first guy I have wanted that she has set in her sights. The first one, she really fucked him up. He had trust issues before, but now, well, I can’t see him having a relationship for a very long time. A healthy relationship, to be specific, he has even more trust issues it seems. Years ago, he was sweet and kind. A different kind of Stan. But one I liked all the same. But he was what she wanted. I wanted her to be happy, so I walked away, just like I am now.

But to be honest, he’s not the guy to hold my true attention. Sure it smarts a bit, having a card taken off the table. It would smart more if he was the only thing that I wanted.

And other than the odd crush on a fictional character, guys seem to come and go quite a bit. There may just be a handful that have stayed in my life and will stay in my life. None of them are related to me either.

To be honest, I would quite happily retreat back into these other worlds that I love diving into. I could Netflix and chill on my own for a week straight and not give a damn. Though for me, it is more satisfying to read an entire book series in rapid succession, pretty much day and night. Those days, are ecstasy. Nothing like avoiding reality.

Truth be told, I want my safe place. The books and the stories. I am anxious. I really don’t want Clover to hurt Stan, or even vice versa. But now, it is out of my hands. They both deserve to be happy. If that is each other, then well, that’s fine with me.

I’m fine. I’m fine.

I hate that the itch and the urge to be bad is just there, on the tip of my tongue. I hate that it is so very easy for me to do something that I shouldn’t because it would cause a little ripple. But little ripples, they grow. Just like the ones I tell myself over and over again.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am fine. I am a good person.

I want to believe that I am a good person. But the temptation to be bad.

My name is Elliot Parker. No matter what I am, good or … bad, I am magical.

So perhaps I wanted to pair Clover and Stan up. To clear the cards on the table a little?

After all, mixed energy is bad energy. Bad energy grows quickly; the effects are much quicker to see. My indecision for Stan, cleared up quicker with competition, one that I won’t enter, for their happiness and for my own. I don’t want to cause a fight.

I made the mistake of crossing over two areas of my life. Now, I have to tidy up the mess, but I won’t, I mustn’t. They are adults. I can’t look after them all the time. They have to learn for themselves.

She better not fuck up.

Ok. I care about both of their happiness. It’s not like I can put some kind of anti fuck up device on them. I need that device if it existed for myself.

I keep telling myself that their happiness means more than my own. Its basic math. Two people’s happiness is greater than my own. Right? Right? WRONG. Stupid girl. I should be happy too. But they seem to be getting along. Interfering now, that is bad. If I interfere now it is done for no other reason than spite. Spite is bad. I am not bad. I am not bad.

I know Jonas and I joke, but I am not bad. We both know it. As wise as he is though, I can’t help but feel that there is a free spirit constantly surging through him. He is one of those people that I admire. He broke free of the rat race and did something he was passionate about. He does what he loves. His enthusiasm transcends in his work. His enthusiasm is contagious. For me, he is proof that it can be done, proof and wisdom that I can do it to. I can be everything that I want to be and do all that I want to do.

The Diary of Elliot Parker

.: Entry One :.

My name is Elliot Parker. I am not your average woman. I like to say I am a quarter of a century old, it feels more fun to me.

I spent my life reading stories, living in other worlds, I never not once thought I would be living a story myself. For me, other worlds, they were an escape. Now they are my living nightmare. I used to read as a child you know. For fun. No kids I knew loved it as much as I did. No kids I knew actually requested veggies to go with their dinners either. But here I am. I ate all those damn veg and I am still five foot two. Don’t believe the lies they tell you that it makes you grow up taller. Just eat the damn veg. Wait! I revise that, eat a balanced diet.

See, there is more to this story than what meets the eye. I have to be careful what I say, I acquired a… gift. And now? Well… now I am trying to learn how to use it.

Like I said before; I spent my life reading stories. Hiding. I spent my whole life in all these other worlds. Somehow I went from a reader to a writer. Now, I create worlds. I guess I always have. But now, I am learning to be careful with what I think, and say, and do.

My name is Elliot Parker. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I want to forget.

But sometimes, just sometimes. I am bloody brilliant.

I tried to lie to myself once. Ok more like a hundred thousand times. I tried to live in denial. But deep down… I always knew. I wasn’t right. I was different. It took a long time to accept that and an even longer time to embrace that.

So I bet you want to know about my gift?

I will get there. I promise.

When I started writing, I started to look at the world. I started to look at people. I noticed things, small things at first. The nuances of a facial expression. Soon I noticed more in a behaviour pattern. But it got worse. I stopped enjoying reading so much, when I noticed I was predicting plot twists and outcomes from the first few chapters. TV? Well, I could ruin a soap plot before it even began to develop. Slowly even that trickled into life. That’s when things got harder to gloss over.

I noticed patterns in those close to me, I predicted the future before it happened, then slowly I tried to experiment to change it. To change the outcome. And it worked. I had started to become a monster. That’s what I am. I know what people want to hear, I know what they want me to say, what they need me to say. “It’s ok”, but it’s not. Not anymore.

I started to change the lives of the people I cared about. Sure they had free will. If you can call it that. I didn’t always know what I was doing. What outcome I really wanted. I’m what you could call self-destructive. I’m not going to lie. Well. Actually, yes, I am. If I know what people want to hear, it means I know what they want. I know what they want from me. They always want too much. It means I know more than I should. It means I pick up on the unseen energy like an instinct and in a split second I can tell a lie, in the other half of that second I have to decide if I want to push for the truth or accept it for what it is. Now? I only let one of two people lie to me. One of them is myself. One of them, I love, unconditionally… That doesn’t mean I will always accept that lie and let it grow. All lies grow.

I keep telling myself I am a good person. When really, there is the greatest capacity with in me to be bad. And oh, how I want to be bad. I want to live without the consequence of guilt or regret. But that doesn’t happen for people like me. When I do bad, I feel it, it haunts me, in my sleep.

I have this dream. As a writer, I always say a character has a life of their own, they have free will, to a degree. The characters in stories, they are real, they have lives, and they write stories and they have dreams too. I couldn’t understand, in this dream I mean. I had been transported to this boarding school, as a teenager. I found myself in a magical world that transformed and inside it, thousands of books would appear crammed inside of bookshelves. That’s when I first realised the power in a character of a story, a world other than this. I saw the thimble from Peter Pan and the tiny clothes from Alice. That’s when I saw Robin’s book. The cover was green and the pages were old. I saw his dream. He wanted to run away with Marian and become a notoriously philanthropic pirate. Who’d have thought it? That room with the books. That’s where I met him. Another one like me. A creator of worlds. A story teller. A writer.

He said his gift was being an impossible thinker. He loved the impossible and finding a way to achieve it. Like me. This room with the books was a secret. Our secret. This place, was his, this was his spirit dream. His name, he said Adrian Kraig. I don’t know how he knew I was different. Just that I was. I still don’t want to believe what I know. I try to fight it every single day. Like I was never meant for this life. For this world sometimes. But what I do know, is I am what could be called a powerful creator.