Tag Archives: Strength

The Stepping Stones To Becoming A writer

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Rise

Rise

When I finished reading all the YA I could get my hands on, I wondered if I could write anything that could create those feelings in another.

 

It’s funny when I think back to the stepping stones that led me to becoming a writer. It should have been obvious from the start that I was always going to become one, yet for years I searched for it. I always had a deep seated need to be my own boss. I knew that whatever I was going to do, needed to be unique, creative and inventive. I also knew that I needed to produce something that was truly mine, something I could call my own. The question was what?

 

I wasted a lot of time looking for the outlet that was going to lead me to my future accomplishment. Singing on the X-Factor was popular, but completely out of the question, as I am tone deaf. I’m not exactly sporty; in fact after running a mile, I’m more incline to collapse than run a victory lap, so I needed to look for something else. I needed to look for some special quality or skill, but I also needed to make a living, so I had to dig deep and start thinking outside of the box.

 

I have to admit that for years I was lost, because I’m nobody special. I’m just as ordinary as the next person. I knew that I had always been a creative. I’d always enjoyed all forms of art and was of a reasonable standard when I was younger, but I had turned my back on it when I left school, writing it off as a hobby, rather than something I could make an income from and never considered writing to be an art form.

 

My best friend at school, Anne, once told me out of the blue, that she always admired my writing. I remember choosing my A-Level subjects and being stuck for my forth choice. I walked around all the stalls as students do and in the end picked English Literature. I had no particular compulsion attracting me to it, I hadn’t bought into the subject at GCSE, but simply needed a fourth, it meant that I could read books and I remembered what Anne had said. In the end it was my best subject. I found an affinity with it that was unparalleled. I answered every question first and took the lead on every discussion in class. I was a natural, I understood the characters, the writer’s inner workings, the subtle symbolism and the motives behind their characterisations. I didn’t have to think about it, it was as clear to me, as if I had written it myself. I had the ability to read between the lines. I had found my subject. It was the first time I had really felt accomplishment, but life caught up with me as life does and took me in a new direction leaving English behind.

 

As time went by, nothing presented itself as a particular talent. I had long since put my success with English behind me, so I was amiss, until I linked a number of random events that had occurred throughout my life. These led me to picking up a computer and making a start. Who knows what makes us suddenly sit up one day and make the connection we’ve been trying to make for a life time. Maybe there is no answer, but for me, it all started when my colleague, Elaine, came into the office one day and raised the question, ‘If you could be anything you wanted to be, what would you be?’ I remember sitting at my desk, up to my neck in work, having one of my usual stressful days and without a moment’s hesitation replying, “A writer.” It wasn’t something I considered before replying. It just rolled off my tongue. I hadn’t even put pen to paper at that point, but there it was, it was out there. I was busy and the conversation ran its course, so I forgot all about it and went back to work, but these words must have come from somewhere, and they certainly lodged themselves somewhere more available.

 

So not much changed in my life. I went about my usual daily routine, working full time at a school and raising a family, with many more little events happening along the way. I changed my job at the school and writing became more of a feature in my role. I wrote a report for a colleague – Tucker, who read it, immediately passing comment on how well it had been written. Again, I didn’t think anything particular about it, I’d just completed a task that he’d asked me to do. I had previously worked with many English teachers, but I particularly remembered Mrs Basic’s classes. Her work really struck a chord with me, but again I still hadn’t made any connections.

 

We had an old computer that a friend gave me. It had a big bulky tower and was set up in an awkward place, but one day I had an urge to have a go at writing something. Another random thought that popped into my head. I wondered if I could do it and the compulsion to do it felt really strong. The kids were occupied and I had some time, so I sat and wrote a couple of pages. I started striking the key, instantly finding a story line. It was the weirdest thing, but it felt natural and comfortable. It all got interrupted and I never went back to it. Soon after, the computer died and that was that.

 

The next, more significant event that took place was when I noticed my daughter was reading a book that everyone on the bus was reading, and all the kids at school. With my motherly curiosity taking president, I wanted to know what my then teenage daughter was reading, so I asked her. She told me about it and offered to lend it to me. At the time I had a busy career and no spare time to indulge in reading, so when she offered to let me read it, I immediately regretted it, because it was the size of a catalogue. I didn’t want to let her down, as she had so adeptly plugged the book and I wanted to ensure that what she was reading was appropriate, as she had already started the second, so I took it. At first I decided to just read enough to get a feel for the story, see if it was suitable and slip it back into her room, telling her I’d read it, but I reach a point which hooked me to the point I almost missed my bus stop. I remember hurtling down the bus, shouting at the driver. Something inside me unlocked, something I couldn’t explain. The book was Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I have a lot to be grateful to Stephenie for, she was the humble beginning of all the dots lining up.

 

I read the whole Twilight series in 3 weeks, which was a record for me, discovering that reading YA books was quite appealing. It reminded me of all those raw emotions felt as a teenager that are lost over time, as our careers and daily grind beat them out of us. When I finished the series, I went to my daughter to see what else she was reading, looking to evoke the feelings that had been stirred up inside me. She was heavily into L.J. Smith at the time, so I started reading her novels. I went looking for more of her work and came across the Vampire Diaries. I tore through the series. When I reached the end of book 7, I put it down and wondered what I should read next, because I had read everything she had wrote in the series up to that point and was hungry for the next one, but knew that I had to wait. The thought occurred to me that maybe I could have a go at writing myself. I wondered if I could write anything that could create those feelings in another. Again, being a practical person, I brushed the momentary thought aside and went about my usual business. Later that month, I had an unusual dream.

 

At this point you may be reading this, shaking your head and thinking what’s unusual about that. There are two things that were unusual for me. Firstly, I know that I dream, everybody does, but I very rarely remember them or know that I have. Secondly, on the rare occasion that I do realise I’ve had a dream, I remember it for all of 30 seconds, often forgetting the finer points, like everyone else. However, this dream was different.

 

On a handful of occasions in my life, I’ve had dreams that have been so profound, they have not only stayed with me, but it have marked a significant point in my life. These dreams I can still see when I close my eyes today. I can recount them at will and they never go away. This was one of them and it came with an over whelming need to write. I woke up with what I can only describe as a charge inside me. It was like electricity and it surged through me, looking to expel itself. What everyone else could see, suddenly occurred to me. Had I found my talent? And could I make it work?

 

I still relive the emotions of having to wait for the right time to try writing again. The burst of excitement within me was all the more concentrated for waiting. I finally found my opportunity one August afternoon in 2010. Everything fell into place that day, my son was out playing football and my daughter was hitting the books for her GCSE’s, so I borrowed my daughter’s laptop and headed down to the bottom of the garden. I can still feel the butterflies today. It was like holding a winning lottery ticket on a windy day. One false move and the whole thing could be a disaster, but I opened a word document and began typing. I wrote the opening chapter to Hidden and never looked back. Today, I am in the process of publishing that very same book. I have two more books at various stages of completion and already know that there will be at least another two books in the saga.

 

It’s funny where humble beginnings can take us. Who could have imagined, when I was my children’s age that today I would be a writer and author? To this day, I have not stopped writing, whether it has been something for one of my books, or something toward marketing the saga. It just took one or two stepping stones and a bit of realisation that my talent was there all along. I just never put my finger on it.

 

Serina Hartwell – Author of The HiddenSaga

http://www.amazon.com/Serina-Hartwell/e/B00JOOKH06/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

 

 

Thank you for taking the time out to read my blog. Don’t forget to follow me and tell a friend. Why not leave me your thoughts or a good review? I have a new website available at – http://www.serinahartwell.com

 

 

The Stepping Stones To Becoming A writer

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Where the magic happens

Where the magic happens

 

When I finished reading all the YA I could get my hands on, I wondered if I could write anything that could create those feelings in another.

 

It’s funny when I think back to the stepping stones that led me to becoming a writer. It should have been obvious from the start that I was always going to become one, yet for years I searched for it. I always had a deep seated need to be my own boss. I knew that whatever I was going to do, needed to be unique, creative and inventive. I also knew that I needed to produce something that was truly mine, something I could call my own. The question was what?

 

I wasted a lot of time looking for the outlet that was going to lead me to my future accomplishment. Singing on the X-Factor was popular, but completely out of the question, as I am tone deaf. I’m not exactly sporty; in fact after running a mile, I’m more incline to collapse than run a victory lap, so I needed to look for something else. I needed to look for some special quality or skill, but I also needed to make a living, so I had to dig deep and start thinking outside of the box.

 

I have to admit that for years I was lost, because I’m nobody special. I’m just as ordinary as the next person. I knew that I had always been a creative. I’d always enjoyed all forms of art and was of a reasonable standard when I was younger, but I had turned my back on it when I left school, writing it off as a hobby, rather than something I could make an income from and never considered writing to be an art form.

 

My best friend at school, Anne, once told me out of the blue, that she always admired my writing. I remember choosing my A-Level subjects and being stuck for my forth choice. I walked around all the stalls as students do and in the end picked English Literature. I had no particular compulsion attracting me to it, I hadn’t bought into the subject at GCSE, but simply needed a fourth, it meant that I could read books and I remembered what Anne had said. In the end it was my best subject. I found an affinity with it that was unparalleled. I answered every question first and took the lead on every discussion in class. I was a natural, I understood the characters, the writer’s inner workings, the subtle symbolism and the motives behind their characterisations. I didn’t have to think about it, it was as clear to me, as if I had written it myself. I had the ability to read between the lines. I had found my subject. It was the first time I had really felt accomplishment, but life caught up with me as life does and took me in a new direction leaving English behind.

 

As time went by, nothing presented itself as a particular talent. I had long since put my success with English behind me, so I was amiss, until I linked a number of random events that had occurred throughout my life. These led me to picking up a computer and making a start. Who knows what makes us suddenly sit up one day and make the connection we’ve been trying to make for a life time. Maybe there is no answer, but for me, it all started when my colleague, Elaine, came into the office one day and raised the question, ‘If you could be anything you wanted to be, what would you be?’ I remember sitting at my desk, up to my neck in work, having one of my usual stressful days and without a moment’s hesitation replying, “A writer.” It wasn’t something I considered before replying. It just rolled off my tongue. I hadn’t even put pen to paper at that point, but there it was, it was out there. I was busy and the conversation ran its course, so I forgot all about it and went back to work, but these words must have come from somewhere, and they certainly lodged themselves somewhere more available.

 

So not much changed in my life. I went about my usual daily routine, working full time at a school and raising a family, with many more little events happening along the way. I changed my job at the school and writing became more of a feature in my role. I wrote a report for a colleague – Tucker, who read it, immediately passing comment on how well it had been written. Again, I didn’t think anything particular about it, I’d just completed a task that he’d asked me to do. I had previously worked with many English teachers, but I particularly remembered Mrs Basic’s classes. Her work really struck a chord with me, but again I still hadn’t made any connections.

 

We had an old computer that a friend gave me. It had a big bulky tower and was set up in an awkward place, but one day I had an urge to have a go at writing something. Another random thought that popped into my head. I wondered if I could do it and the compulsion to do it felt really strong. The kids were occupied and I had some time, so I sat and wrote a couple of pages. I started striking the key, instantly finding a storyline. It was the weirdest thing, but it felt natural and comfortable. It all got interrupted and I never went back to it. Soon after, the computer died and that was that.

 

The next, more significant event that took place was when I noticed my daughter was reading a book that everyone on the bus was reading, and all the kids at school. With my motherly curiosity taking president, I wanted to know what my then teenage daughter was reading, so I asked her. She told me about it and offered to lend it to me. At the time I had a busy career and no spare time to indulge in reading, so when she offered to let me read it, I immediately regretted it, because it was the size of a catalogue. I didn’t want to let her down, as she had so adeptly plugged the book and I wanted to ensure that what she was reading was appropriate, as she had already started the second, so I took it. At first I decided to just read enough to get a feel for the story, see if it was suitable and slip it back into her room, telling her I’d read it, but I reach a point which hooked me to the point I almost missed my bus stop. I remember hurtling down the bus, shouting at the driver. Something inside me unlocked, something I couldn’t explain. The book was Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I have a lot to be grateful to Stephenie for, she was the humble beginning of all the dots lining up.

 

I read the whole Twilight series in 3 weeks, which was a record for me, discovering that reading YA books was quite appealing. It reminded me of all those raw emotions felt as a teenager that are lost over time, as our careers and daily grind beat them out of us. When I finished the series, I went to my daughter to see what else she was reading, looking to evoke the feelings that had been stirred up inside me. She was heavily into L.J. Smith at the time, so I started reading her novels. I went looking for more of her work and came across the Vampire Diaries. I tore through the series. When I reached the end of book 7, I put it down and wondered what I should read next, because I had read everything she had wrote in the series up to that point and was hungry for the next one, but knew that I had to wait. The thought occurred to me that maybe I could have a go at writing myself. I wondered if I could write anything that could create those feelings in another. Again, being a practical person, I brushed the momentary thought aside and went about my usual business. Later that month, I had an unusual dream.

 

At this point you may be reading this, shaking your head and thinking what’s unusual about that. There are two things that were unusual for me. Firstly, I know that I dream, everybody does, but I very rarely remember them or know that I have. Secondly, on the rare occasion that I do realise I’ve had a dream, I remember it for all of 30 seconds, often forgetting the finer points, like everyone else. However, this dream was different.

 

On a handful of occasions in my life, I’ve had dreams that have been so profound, they have not only stayed with me, but it have marked a significant point in my life. These dreams I can still see when I close my eyes today. I can recount them at will and they never go away. This was one of them and it came with an over whelming need to write. I woke up with what I can only describe as a charge inside me. It was like electricity and it surged through me, looking to expel itself. What everyone else could see, suddenly occurred to me. Had I found my talent? And could I make it work?

 

I still relive the emotions of having to wait for the right time to try writing again. The burst of excitement within me was all the more concentrated for waiting. I finally found my opportunity one August afternoon in 2010. Everything fell into place that day, my son was out playing football and my daughter was hitting the books for her GCSE’s, so I borrowed my daughter’s laptop and headed down to the bottom of the garden. I can still feel the butterflies today. It was like holding a winning lottery ticket on a windy day. One false move and the whole thing could be a disaster, but I opened a word document and began typing. I wrote the opening chapter to Hidden and never looked back. Today, I am in the process of publishing that very same book. I have two more books at various stages of completion and already know that there will be at least another two books in the saga.

 

It’s funny where humble beginnings can take us. Who could have imagined, when I was my children’s age that today I would be a writer and author? To this day, I have not stopped writing, whether it has been something for one of my books, or something toward marketing the saga. It just took one or two stepping stones and a bit of realisation that my talent was there all along. I just never put my finger on it.

 

Serina Hartwell – Author of The Hidden Sagahttp://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

 

Thank you for taking the time out to read my blog. Don’t forget to follow me and tell a friend. Why not leave me your thoughts or a good review? I have a new website available at – http://www.serinahartwell.com

 

 

The Edge

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The Edge

The Edge

The edge is where I seek comfort,

I approach it from afar,

I set my stall upon it,

Determines in deep refrain.

Pushed too far, pushed too close,

It beacons me to approach,

I try to hold my resolve in place,

But push, push, it welcomes me.

Its arms aloft and open wide,

I walk into its tender embrace,

I step onto the ledge,

And look down at the fall.

There’s nothing holding onto me,

To keep me from stepping off,

Tick-tock time chimes, it lays it on thick.

My worthless soul should take the hit,

Then tender arms surround me,

They’re strong, they’re warm and tight,

You pull me back and gather me up,

Your blue eyes offer hope.

You have the strength to pull me back,

To deal with my plight,

Strong shoulders to cry upon,

A strong back for my fight.

Hope is renewed,

The pressure grows thin,

I am saved from the edge,

And ready to begin.

The edge no longer calls my name,

I beat it, ignored its request,

Life is renewed, I start again,

What future I would have missed.

If I’d given up and lost my way,

If I let the edge have its way,

I’d have lost so much, yet to unfold,

Today I smile and walk away.

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

Down

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Down

Down

No matter how far you fall,

You can only tumble so far,

Before the bottom serves as the prompt,

That it’s time to look up to the light.

Up toward the light,

At the end of the tunnel,

To the light that will guide your way,

To your new bright future that lays in wait.

The journey is long,

The climb is tremendous,

The darkness holds on,

But the light’s strength is great.

It’s calling, it’s true,

Your future lies dormant,

It lies just ahead,

Around the corner and just out of view.

And waiting, just waiting,

For you to arrive,

At the meeting point in time,

Of the positive and new.

So much work is needed,

But your strength will renew,

The distance is far,

To the new beginning that awaits you.

So, although you may stumble,

And fall on your way,

To the top you may stagger,

But climb anyway.

The mountain is worthy,

Of the climb of your life,

The target in sight,

So don’t lose hope yet.

Don’t give up yet,

The test is almost up,

Just keep digging deep within,

For the strength buried down, within.

To find your will,

To persist to the end,

One day you’ll look back,

And say, “Remember when”,

From your position of triumph,

Comfort and renewal,

These days will pass soon,

They’re only for so long.

So keep your faith within,

Hold onto it tight,

The finish line will come soon,

And will end your fight.

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.

The Wheel

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The Wheel

The shutters are down

The air is thin

I search my heart

But I know not where to begin

I cannot settle east

I cannot settle west

I need a break of fortune

To offer me some rest

For where my heart is taking me

My talent can be pursued

But conversation fights me all the way

And persecutes my will

My strength is waning within me now

I fight to keep my way

I know not which direction I should take

To turn, to break away

I run from the wheel that grinds me down

The one that bears on me

I keep my tender straight and true

And head for freedom’s light

By Serina Hartwell

Author of The Hidden Saga

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com/author-serina-hartwell.html

If you like my work, tell a friend. Thank you for your support.