.: Entry Twelve :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

Welcome to my world. Well… Welcome to the world as I know it.

Strange things happen to me, or perhaps I am the strange thing that happens. I can’t always tell. What did I create when I did not choose as deliberately as I should? I made a bet with myself a short while ago. I made a bet that Clover would mess things up with Stan. I was pretty much right. She took a lot of offence to something incredibly minor. I mean seriously minor.

We all went out for a group outing so that Clover and Stan could officially meet. I will be honest, I had tonnes of fun, that was what I wanted so that is what I got. But hey I am a deliberate creator. So as I was saying; Clover and Stan. Oh my, was that awkward. They had wanted to see a movie so we all kind of got dragged along. They sat next to each other. But before we even got to that point things started to go downhill. Stan paid for Clover’s ticket and she had asked him not to, that she wanted to do it. Well apparently that really annoyed her. But when you look for a reason or an excuse you will find one, right?

Well, here is where it got a bit amusing, for me, kind of, without meaning to sound very mean. So there we are sat watching this movie, which wasn’t as bad as I had expected it to be. So there we are sat snacking on over-priced cinema stuff, there sits Clover with a ridiculous size box of popcorn and Stan sat with a slushy and huge bag of chocolate. I’m sat with the others acting as the bumper between them and Stan and Clover having their “first meeting”.  So the movie goes on the two seem to be doing ok. I mean Clover seems a bit chilly and Stan well nervous. That’s when the first gut thought hit, well more a bet that I was going to make with myself. “I bet that Clover is going to start treating Stan like crap, I bet that they are definitely going nowhere and will not work out.”

Harsh but true.

The movie gets going with higher stakes just arriving at the climax and there is a sudden movement in my periphery. Stan has taken hold of Clover’s popcorn and is throwing up, like, seriously throwing up as though he was a fountain.

The smell was noxious. I can’t stand the smell, but rather than offer complete sympathy, I am stifling a laugh. Mainly because what the hell am I supposed to do? I mean, this is awkward. Seriously, severely, awkward.

Well, he slid out the movie unaccompanied with his popcorn box. There Clover sat with a face somewhere between resisting laughing and complete fuming anger. I didn’t have a clue what to say, or do. The both of them wanted this meeting; they wanted to go out as a group. Clover was meant to organise it but left everything to the very last minute so I had to finalise everything. Am I really expected to go check if he’s ok?

NO.

It is Clover’s thing. I am not the one who is supposed to be going to check on her sort of date.

My name is Elliot Parker. It is time Clover stepped up and took responsibility.

There I said it. She needs to take responsibility. But there she sits.  Well, I am certain that there will be no lasting relationship like he hoped. Mind you, he is a jumper, he wants a relationship confirmed before the foundations are set and laid. It made sense to me when he told me he has lots of what could be called month long relationships that never go anywhere. Of course, he jumps in before he knows who or what he is jumping into or with. The folly of still being and acting childish.

Though I can’t talk. The last relationship I had, we talked, we met, in under a month of our first hello we confirmed out exclusive relationship. To be fair, in that relationship I ended up falling in love, completely. The potential, the flaws, he just, he somehow stole all my sensibility. But I would hope that falling that deep happens to everyone, but the hurt that comes if it ends badly, it is almost unbearable.

A year. It was 365 days of a roller-coaster; and then about 40 days of complete, plummeting free fall. Then of course you crash into the ground so hard you can almost feel the molten rock burning your every single cell. Prying yourself from that kind of hurt and pain, it takes time, it takes strength and determination to feel right, to feel good again, even though at that point it feels impossible. That’s when you could say I first began to learn about surviving and about deliberate creation. That is not what I understood it to be at the time, that is not what it felt like at first. It felt like a lot of little requests, small alterations in energy. The results of the requests. They sort of grew a bit and so did the confirmation that I received from my asking.

It took some time, some understanding, some guess work as to what I was doing. Other than fumbling in the dark for the light. Eventually my asking transformed a little each time so that rather than requesting what I wanted; it became, albeit slowly, less of a request and more a statement of knowing. Each day. Moment by moment, I reminded myself what that my statement of knowing that I had begun to start my day with was going to happen.

It is funny. My first statement of knowing came from my friend’s baby’s talking toy. How perfectly simple. That first phrase? “Today is going to be a great day.”

My name is Elliot Parker, and today is going to be a great day.

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

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

.: Entry Eleven :.

My name.

My name is Elliot Parker. And I was right.

My safe place is not as safe as I thought. My favourite dream. I had it again. But it is not the same anymore. When it was the same it was comfortable, you know, like your favourite onesie when it’s cold outside. Then it started changing, I was changing so it changed because of me. The more that I change the more control I gain. The more control I exert the more I change.

Recently I noticed that my dream, this dream world, that was under my influence, is not just under my influence. Someone else can reach this place. Someone else has the ability to change this place. Someone else out there can do what I do. Being who I am never felt so hard. Especially the more my influence reaches just through energy.

Last time I was here, there was a jotter book in the trinket box, I had replied to whoever responded to my message. The last message in my writing was “Who are you?”

Sweet huh? Simple. Tucked away nice and safe with that pretty trinket box. Now, here it is in my hand, I didn’t have to look or rummage it just seemed to appear. I didn’t have to remind myself to look for it. I just thought about the jotter, and there it is, sat in the palm of my hand. Pen hooked in the spirals.

I had my reply though. It was kind of cool in a way. In a this feels incredibly violating kind of way. In a this is wrong, impossible but incredible kind of way.

“Adrian Kraig” cool. That is an… interesting name? I don’t know. The name Adrian rings through to a part of me that makes my stomach squirm, and twist, and knot. Not in a bad way though. In more of a… memory.

Looking at the next line I find myself elated. At least he doesn’t respond using text talk. Adrian actually wrote out “What about you?” Rather than the widely and incredibly irritating “wbu” which you know, gives a certain degree of credibility to the guy. Which also brings about another one of those great moments where I get to say “I was right” because the likelihood is that Adrian is a boy’s name, mostly.

Again so many questions, is Adrian a guy for sure? How old is he? How did he get here? The list, endless.

But I had his question to answer. Do I answer his question with the truth? A variation? Did he approach this with the same dilemma?

I don’t know how long I stood here, trying to decide my response. My mind wandered, could Adrian be really attractive? Would he have green eyes, dark hair and a devil may care attitude? Probably not. Most likely a 50 something guy, going bald, incredibly wise but obnoxious.

“My name is Elliot Parker.”

Perfect. Again I nail the handwriting… I am getting neater.

Suddenly all the questions I wanted to ask fade. They mean nothing, not right now.

I could be or do or say anything I want right now. I could be anyone I want. So why do I want to be me?

I want to escape. Just for a little while. And like that the jotter is pinned by the trinket box and my room dissolves as I touch the book with the green cover and get pulled into a different great adventure.

I don’t have to climb the rigging. The bird’s nest is being over taken by real crew and the ship is swaying. The crew scurrying like a surge of ants across the deck. Me? I’m forgotten. Rather carefully I slide my way down from the bird’s nest and hit the deck running. I could run away and hide. Instead, I slip into the Captain’s cabin. It’s deserted. He’s too busy barking orders at his crew but I know something he doesn’t.

That ship on the horizon, is not a ship you can run from. It is big, powerful and you can guarantee it has seen us long before we saw it. It’s a dread ship. Somehow there’s a whole span of false memories sewn into my own. A mix of fact and fiction. A world I knew before I arrived on this boat, and the life of the stow away girl. This boat will never out run a dread ship. Out fighting it could be a lot harder than the Captain anticipates. But outsmarting it? Well that has better odds.

Seemingly right on the nose, the Captain bursts into his cabin with the sway of the boat. Surprise or anger on his face is nothing compared to the idea of the dread ship on our heel.

My plan tumbles from my mouth. An excuse, explanation or avoiding death by using my wits. Seems to come like a second nature. His bushy eyebrows raised into his hairline almost comically as the words tumbled. It wasn’t long until they furrowed in thought. He was considering it… he was actually thinking about my idea. The stow away girl’s idea. He spun on his heels silently and exited the cabin. Either I am about to become a shark’s snack or skewered on a sword. I wait for the crew to burst in and pull me from the room. But they don’t. Nothing moves in the room but me trying to hold balance as I aim for the door of the cabin and pull myself outside.

The crew were slowing down the scurrying to escape ceasing. And silence falling as they gather on the main deck trying to hold balance in front of the Captain.

The swaying continues below my feet, but that doesn’t cause the lurching in my stomach as I am pulled backwards from the ship.

I slam into the wooden floor below my feet. My body stills swaying with the motion of the ocean. The churning slowly settling in my stomach.

You see, my name is Elliot Parker and I get very sea sick.

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

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

.: Entry Ten :.

My name is Elliot Parker.

And I asked Stan a dangerous question. I asked him the title of the movie I was watching, “Ask Me Anything”. And he did.  I bet there are a thousand questions that could have been asked. What is your favourite food? What is the name of your ex? What is the name of the person you love? Who do you fancy? Who is your celebrity crush? Who is your hero? Are you a hero or a villain? Have you ever been in love? Do you believe in true love? Does Clover really still live with her ex?

Do you know what he asked? What he really wanted to know?

“What size bra do you wear?” OF ALL THE QUESTIONS HE COULD HAVE ASKED!?

Seriously? Seriously?  That is what he wanted to know? What is it with guys and boobs? Like really, you didn’t try to look sneakily when you were at work? It is a question you already know, I have big boobs, and what? I might not walk around in low cut tops and stuff but boobs can be pretty damn hard to hide. Trust me.

So is that really the biggest question guys have when they talk to a girl? Oh well. That is just… Maybe it is a good thing Clover has Stan on her hit list.

My name is Elliot Parker. No one really knows who I am.

Sure it sounds like something a rather melodramatic teenager might say. But I haven’t really mentioned the truth of what’s been going on with anyone. What do I say? “There is something weird going on and I don’t know what to do about it.” Like I could even begin to explain, I don’t always understand it. Being able to know things that I shouldn’t, being able to predict something. How the hell do I explain that I can just tell these things?

Sometimes I show it. I don’t always mean to. It’s no more than a glimpse really. That’s fine. A glimpse and only an eyebrow is raised. But doing it intentionally? I don’t want to, to summon the energy of that knowing.

How do I say, “there is something weird going on and I don’t know if I really understand it”?

I can’t. I just have to, figure it out myself.

Part of me, it has this strange wish to talk to him about it, he who should not be named. I know what he would probably tell me. “That’s not possible” I can almost hear it; he would think I had lost my mind. Sometimes, I really do worry that I have lost my mind, or that losing my mind could be a strong possibility. Perhaps I already have lost it? But somehow, no matter what I was feeling, I felt safe around him. Even if he made my heart race behind its bone cage. But that wouldn’t be the only thing that he would say. Some of it, he wouldn’t even have to say out loud. I could read it all in those beautiful brown eyes that rival a sunset. He has never been able to admit it, but he knows I read him like a book, better than a book. He hates that he can’t read me, that he doesn’t know how to read me. But not many people even know where to start. I love reading him like a book. It is one of those things that I don’t even have to see him, talk to him, text him for. Somehow I just know. I always know.

You can’t tell me that being able to do that isn’t strange? It feels like no matter what frequency I am tuned into; I can still hear him.

I am a deliberate creator, and somehow I manifested him into my life. That’s when I didn’t understand this at all, I mean I sort of have a grasp of the basics now, and I am better and more deliberate. But that didn’t stop me from losing him. But then again, I know that if I can be really clear and intentional and don’t mix up my energy too much, the manifestation that he is can walk right back into my life and have something stronger and healthier. I am a deliberate creator. I know that this is possible.

I just know that I have to be clear and certain of my own energy and momentum. But I am getting there.

I used to wander, how can I dream about someone I have never met? Now I wander, how did I meet that someone that was in all the best dreams?

But there is the other half of the coin, my nightmares aren’t events from the future. My nightmares grow from the weeds of my past. And while I still have that nightmare of losing he who should not be named. I know that those nightmares cause the focus of my own energy to fog and mix.

But, what is lost can be found.

My name is Elliot Parker; I believe that I can get more control of my own energy.

This is my new theory: if I can raise and accelerate other people’s energy quickly, I can replicate that for my own energy. I can raise and accelerate my own energy.

If a car is going 5mph and crashes into a tree, the damage, is not so bad. If a car is going 100mph and crashes into a tree… well that makes perfect sense doesn’t it. That’s what happened before. My energy was so strong and at such a high speed that the last time I crashed, the pain was unbearable. My energy plummeted to below nothing. Once I came out of the crater of rock bottom that is where the fun began. Well no, it wasn’t fun. It was painful and hard. Until, I learned that it could be easier. It got easier. They say it gets easier, it’s not a total lie. I promise.

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

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

.: Entry Nine :.

My name is Elliot Parker

I am excited. I had that dream again. But that is not all I am excited about.

I think I might have mentioned what happens at the start of the dream. The rippling floors, the breaking away of the wood. The way it melts and crumbles. How it fades and falls from existence and replaces itself with bookshelves. The stained woods of antiques. The one that I am drawn to, always first. It has this carved wood. The old filigree claws. The green stained wood sanded and unvarnished. The walnut trinket box, so beautifully carved resting beside the first book I always touch. The box was different. The top part of the box, the top shelf of the box, sat uneven. The thimble tilted to the side, the tiny clothes piled to a corner. The threadbare velvet showing its faded pink. Pulling that top shelf away was something new. Something I hadn’t tried before. Something I shouldn’t have been able to change but I did. The layer below had something I recognised.

The jotter pad and pen. The cap was looser than I had it on. I flipped to the first page of the notebook. My own writing on the first line. “I am a deliberate creator.” I have to admit; I was impressed by my own neatness for a moment. But it was something two lines below my own writing that had my attention. Clearly written, with as much intention as I had, had to use to change the dream the first time. “SO AM I”

I had a response.

The understanding that I had of dreams had been torn apart by this place.

Here it was again. Something new. Not only did I have a response, this place was open, other people could come here. This isn’t just my place. That was one of those feelings that just felt a bit violating. Like this was my safe place, my safe place.

Another something new.

I changed the opening sequence.

My name is Elliot Parker and I changed something that should be impossible.

Not for the first time.

I changed the bulk of the dream. I did it. I broke it. I broke the big sequence that pulls me into the next world. I suppose a book is someone else’s world anyway. But this, this is, indescribable. I opened the other layer of the trinket box.

Now I know that someone else can come here, I am not the only one. I am not the only deliberate creator. If someone else can come here, can I find them in the real world? For a start, how do I find them?

That is, it. If there is someone else, surely they have a name. A man must have a name. If he is a man… but with that handwriting, my guess is a man. I could be wrong, but it just sort-of has an energy to it that just feels like it is almost definitely a man… I mean, it could be a man. I am sure it probably, most likely is a man.

“Who are you?” That’s it? That’s the only thing I am letting myself ask. The only thing I am daring to ask right now. There are many questions that I want to ask, believe me, questions that I should ask. But something is pulling me back from asking too much at once, from pushing for more information. One step at a time. I already changed too much. I mean I don’t even know just how much is safe to change. I don’t know. Just how much I can change in one go. What is possible? Well apparently, anything.

But this, this is till my dream, it is still my choice. This is still my safe place, my one place where I can ask the impossible to be possible. The one place I can find out what happens to the stowaway girl that climbs the rigging and reaches the birds nest. And that is where I get pulled into another world. That is what I want right now. I want to know what happens next to the stow away girl on the ship.

So what else do I do? I put the trinket box back together and put the notebook back on the top layer with the pen and close the lid. They will probably come back, whoever it is, and open the box and read my message. I hope they answer the question. It would be nice to have the name of the person invading my safe haven.

And there it is. The paperback book of my dreams. Sure of course that sounds absolutely ridiculous, I know? But that’s the thing, this is my dream. The paper, it has that old book feel, stiffened edges, yellowing paper. The cover that pretty faded green of the trees melting into the sea. That faded black ink.

My name is Elliot Parker and I am the stow away girl.

Pulled into this world, this time, it was different. The bird’s nest. The rough wood under my fingers, the knotted rope. It was clearer. The cold whip of the wind. The boat hitting each wave, each chopping slap on the hull. In all but one direction, the sea sweeping the world from existence. But that one corner of the world not just occupied by sea. That was the first time I have seen anything like it. A ship in the distance. It wasn’t right. The way it seemed to absorb the light from the rising sun. it made it look darker than jet black, if any such thing could be possible. If I could have flown from the bird’s nest to the deck I would have but I was being pulled away again. Dragged back into the room, the dream was beginning to dissolve from within the dream. Emerging from the book and landing on the hard wood floor hurt.

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

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