Already Said, Already Done!

‘I’m not who I thought I was, and I’m terrified that I never will be’

These are words I once heard in a movie. It created an anxiety attack like no other. My heart started racing, my mouth became dry, my chest tightened - even the thought of breathing and taking another breath was like an insult. Not an insult to me, but to those worthy of the fight they gave - whether they succeeded or not.

How much that is currently written is the same or a similar rehash of what has gone before? The struggle to find the unique point of view hurts. The moment where you can express, even for a moment, something that may have the lightning strike of inspiration, that makes what you have written worth the time and the breaths you’ve expired in doing so and you can’t regain.

The foolish notion that what you have to say has any impact, even in any minor detail or could even be heard in the clamour of sameness and hype of magnificent hyperbole is ridiculous. The ‘pfffft' factor is what I like to call it. That’s the sound mastered by the French of the nonchalant shrug given to your work while your reader slightly tilts their head and purses their lips ever so lightly with a sound that takes and makes the least effort possible.

Should I continue…?

Already Said, Already Done!

Somebody else has already said it, already expressed it. I then struggle to see the point in creating my own work and feel relegated to only providing commentary, you know the one or two sentences that are meant to be a pearl of wisdom. Being a veracious reader of all types of genres, although I do have my favourites, it’s difficult to know at times if the words that appear are my own or I’m just being a mouthpiece for another author.

At the moment of writing this, I sat in a lovely provincial restaurant in a country with a language not my own, surrounded by tables of couples, business colleagues meeting, and large groups of friends enjoying their evening. My table is on a slightly raised area affording me an appealing view and removing the awkward feeling of being closed in by so many bodies. I have ‘my corner’ which is my favourite position as a lone traveller. The buzz is pleasant, as has been the wine. The food delicious, the wait service perfectly visible as needed. The ambiance is historic, perfectly matched in decor and quirky structural elements. In other words, it’s the perfect place to relax the mind and let the fingers fly across the keyboard. It’s like I can almost capture somewhat of the Gertrude Stein Paris Salon…oh who am I kidding. I’m not in that ilk! I’m not part of a posse of starving, argumentative, forward thinking ‘lost generation’ storytellers seeking to change the world. Only to make my own world worth something, anything. 

It’s a harsh truth when you know your language skills are lacking, when you know within your realm of friends, there are those who have significantly more important, personal stories to tell and are now published. In fact, you were so far removed from their world, you didn’t even know they were writing and, almost like a slap in the face, or even a kick in the gut, you see their name in print and can only dream of having that kind of value to others. It was a surprise throwing you off kilter. You are in absolute passionate support of their work because you know they are worthy and they are making a difference. You know from your own writing experience, they must have spent the time and effort, agonising of what to say, how to say it and wondering if it matters. 

Am I depressing you yet with this drivel? I thought so, so why are you still reading this?

Maybe it’s like slowing down as you drive by a car crash. Not just because you see the flashing lights or have to move into a single lane but because your curiosity won’t let you look away as you want to assess how truly bad it is and have another shocking pub story to share. Maybe it is a challenge to the inner voice to stir things up. Get those brain signals activated to shake the mental body out of its foetal position. Stretch out for bit, realise you have atrophied and need to once again exercise, gently of course, what was a dream that has faded. No great gush that takes a while from which to recover but thoughts that make their way into black and white because they have breathed a little. Like a wine, even a bad one, it needs to be allowed to engage in its environment to ever have a chance of even being sipped.

Snippets and Scraps

So far, this doesn’t even make the grade of a short story. Not enough words. Gosh that makes me giggle to think about that. So who decided the word count that denotes a blog, short story, novella or novel? Now my ears are ringing with the voice of Captain Barbossa from Pirates of the Caribbean, just swap the word pirate for writer… 

‘First, your return to shore was not part of our negotiations nor our agreement so I must do nothing. And secondly, you must be a pirate for the pirate's code to apply and you're not. And thirdly, the code is more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules.’ 

Makes me wonder if Barbossa was a publisher in an alternate life. Certainly not a literary agent that is supposed to passionately represent you while robbing you blind. Then again, I did mention piracy. 

Many years ago I sat in a hardwood student seat of the old fashioned kind, you know the ones that have that little attached table that doesn’t move and so small it’s enough for the coffee cup but very uncomfortable for laying down the notebook and needing to twist yourself to write. The course was on self-publishing and taken long before the technology and services we have today where people don’t think twice about doing so. Classic avoidance as I didn’t want to meet the Barbossas of the writing world. Every now and again, that bunch of papers from the course falls off my bookshelf, well not literally, but as I’m rifling for something else, I come across it, pull it out and shove it back in again - I don’t have anything to publish, so why read it again?

There have been attempts, mostly meagre. So many scraps of paper in various notebooks and in computer files. They are snippets of ideas, characters and even some time spent structuring chapters. In essence, they’re more about expressions of life. Tidbits of experiences strung together that still don’t make sense but I know somewhere in there is a flow. There is a lack of coherence but I do wonder if that is the issue. Writing, as logical in some genres as the content may be, is still based on the passions to commit knowledge to paper.  

If you think it, you've already felt it. In that alone is a story that makes it worth telling!

There is a story within us all - what's yours?

To be continued…perhaps!

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Simone Jo Moore is affectionately known as the Human API and a powerhouse innovative business and technology framework mixologist. As a Top 25 Thought Leader, Simone combines her background in HR, Organisational Change and complementary health with her technology profession for a deep leadership experience. The focus is on helping organisations and individuals in building resilience in a VUCA world through ensuring a focus on connecting the human-to-human, emotional intelligence and artificial intelligence.

Passionate about probing the hearts and minds of what makes business and IT tick and jumpstart people’s thinking to evolve behaviour and actions at any level, Simone works with four key principles that are active values - People connected, knowledge shared, possibilities discovered and potential realised.

Like to have Simone work with your organisation? A speaker at your next event? Even a coaching session or workshop/training then come explore with Simone here. You can also catch up with her on KTLO Learn broadcasts

Time to become a mixologist and understanding that to be creative and innovate takes more than imagination, it takes synergy between professions and practices.