Writing Prompts

I’m back again. We just had our first Type-in for 2025, and it feels good to be back in the writing space. One of my biggest challenges has been making the time to write. I don’t prioritise it over other things that need my attention. I want to prioritise my writing, I just don’t know what to drop to allow that. But I suspect that social media might be a good place to start looking for those blocks of time. The latest BS over F#$^&*ook has given me another reason to seriously consider dropping out of the social media space, or to at least look at what other options I have. It’s hard. All my friends and family use this platform and for many of them, it’s the only way we connect. A big part of me really wants to fight back and say, ‘No! I will not be bullied out of my social space. I am disabled, LGBTIQA+, and neuro diverse and I have as much right to be here as anyone else. So, for now, I think I’ll black out for a week to support the message that it’s not ok to treat people this way, but I won’t be silenced indefinitely.

Anyhoo…. On to the matter of writing. I have struggled to make myself put pen to paper over the last year, but I’m determined to break through that drought. Our esteemed leader offered me a couple of writing prompts this morning and this is the one I ran with. It’s a first draft and I may or may not tidy it up. But it doesn’t really matter at this point. I’m writing and that was the whole purpose of the exercise.

Chat soon,

A.L.A.S

Writing Prompt

‘Hey Jo, have you still got it?’

‘Ssh! Yes, come inside.’

I slip in quickly and she closes the door behind me, glancing up the street to make sure I haven’t been followed. I can hear her kids upstairs and turn to look as one of them appears at the top of the stairwell.

‘Who is it, mum?’

‘No one, go back to your room and play. I’ll be up in a minute.’

We both watch until he leaves. She cringes when something crashes, and a fight breaks out.

Sighing, she turns to me and asks, ‘Did you bring the coupons?’

‘Yeah, I managed to get 300. I know it’s not what we agreed on but honestly, it’s a shit show out there. No one is giving up anything anymore.’

‘Fuck! I told you I needed 400 to pay for Emma’s hospital bills! I can’t give it up for less, it’s the only thing of value I have left. I’m sorry Sam, but we had a deal.’

I turn away so she doesn’t see the rage on my face. I knew before I got here that I had little chance of getting it, but the lure was too strong. I’ve been searching for weeks for these stupid things. Begging favours, prostituting myself for one measly coupon, stealing when I could, I even knocked over an old guy one day who was on his way into the market. Managed to get 10 coupons out of that job. This craziness was turning me into a monster. I slump against the wall and start to cry.

Jo slips an arm around my shoulder and holds me close.

‘I know it’s hard Sam, but honestly, it does get easier. I barely even think of it anymore.’

‘This whole thing is just BS. You know the arseholes only made it illegal so they can keep it all for themselves? Trying to make people believe that it’s shortening our lifespans and giving us cancer. What a crock! Aaargh! I haven’t had any for 3 months! If I was going to get over it, surely it would have happened by now? Can I just, I don’t know, smell it?’

Jo laughs. ‘Sure, give me a minute.’

I pace the hallway while she is gone. I can hear the kid’s asking questions, and her deflections, promises to go to the park later, no you can’t have an ice-cream. I stop in front of a mirror, shocked when I see myself. When did that happen? My hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in weeks and when was the last time I shaved? Dark circles under my eyes attest to the countless nights I’ve lain awake dreaming of what I can’t have. This new law is going to kill me if I don’t get a grip on myself soon.

Jo appears at my side. I hadn’t even heard her coming down the stairs. She holds a small tin in her hands. One of those old metal ones they used to have back in the last century, before all the wars. It looks like something you might cook a date loaf in. The writing is barely legible, something about the Ministry of Food, National Dried Milk? A bit hard to tell. She pries the lid off and holds it up. Oh my god! The smell is so overpowering! I breathe it in so hard that my sinuses start burning. My mouth waters and I start to laugh and cry at the same time. I want this so badly. I stand there with my hands on the tin, breathing in the aroma so deeply that I begin to feel like I’m meditating. Everything else disappears and for the first time in weeks, I feel my body starting to unwind.

I glance up to see Jo watching me, concern written on her face.

‘You really miss this, don’t you?’

I don’t know what to say. She’s right of course. But I know if I say yes, she might just give it to me, bills be dammed. Instead, I laugh.

‘Yeah, a little bit, but I’ll manage. I’ll keep looking for more coupons, see how I go hey? Can you give me another week?’

She agrees and I turn to leave, but as I reach for the door, a thought crosses my mind.

‘Could I just have one?’

She shakes her head and laughs but grabs one out of the tin and gives it to me.

‘Make it last.’ She laughs.

‘I will, I promise.’

As I sit by the river, sucking on this one tiny coffee bean, I finally accept that I have sold my soul. I’ll never get over this. I will die every day doing whatever it takes to get one more hit. A log drifts by my feet, and I watch the currents swirl. I slip off my shoes and lower myself into the river. It won’t take long. The tides are changing, and a storm is brewing.

The writing prompt was ‘Coffee is Illegal

© 21st January 2025 Annie Christie-Whitehead.

“What is the pain you are willing to sustain?” Mark Manson

In my last post, I mentioned that I’ve been wondering how I want to use this blog and played with the idea of tracking my artistic journey. I’m going to run with that as it’s the primary focus in my life right now.


Over the last few years, I’ve tried to incorporate art into my life as much as possible. It hasn’t been easy. Juggling the constraints of adult life, self-care, work, and family is something I’ve found to be incredibly challenging. In the past ten years, I’ve been diagnosed with Autism, ADHD, and Executive Function Disorder, and while that explains a lot, it doesn’t tell me how to stay focused, plan and organise my time, regulate my emotions, or deal with impulsivity to name a few.


A common scenario is this. I started my second year of uni on a high. My bullet journal was up to date, I’d read all the novels and readings over the summer, I spent time sorting out my timeline for assignments and tutorial tasks and every day I checked in to make sure I was on track. What I forgot to do was allow time for life. As the weeks progressed and outside commitments came up, I found I was getting further behind. My stress levels rose, things got forgotten, essays got pushed back and avoidance started to kick in. By the end of the semester, I was so stressed and so far behind that I had no capacity to deal with a crisis, failure was inevitable. I know that sometimes shit happens, but this shit is a recurring theme for me.


Or I decide to implement a new health regime like meditation. For the first week, I diligently make time to meditate, and I love it. Then somewhere in the second or third week, I ‘forget’ that I’m creating new neural pathways and before I know it, three months have passed and I find myself saying, ‘Oh, that’s right, I decided to meditate each day. Wonder what happened?’ It’s frustrating and demoralising.
I’m still learning to work with a brain that seems determined to sabotage my every attempt to move forward. For those of you who haven’t come across this voice yet, and I doubt there will be many, my companion appears in the form of a well-meaning parent who is scared to let go in case I get hurt. This parent has very firm ideas about what is the right path for me.


‘You’ll never make money as an artist, why don’t you become a secretary?’
‘This is going to hurt, you know you can deal with it later, don’t you?’
‘Are you sure you want to wear that?’
‘Yes, I know you’ve made progress and have achieved so much, but…’


You get the idea; negative self-talk has been a topic of discussion for decades. Thankfully, I’m screwed up enough to need therapy, so I get the benefit of regular opportunities to learn new life skills. One of those skills has been learning to put myself out there and teach my brain it is safe and worthwhile to trust both myself and other people. This is scary! For anyone who has experienced trauma or rejection, trusting feels like the stupidest thing you could do. Opening myself up for that pain feels like self-sabotage, but I’ve come to realise that withdrawing from humanity means missing out on love as well.


About ten years ago I read an article by Mark Manson, he asked, “What pain do you want in your life? What are you willing to struggle for?” https://markmanson.net/question
His article resonated with me on a lot of levels, and I began to question the goals I was reaching for. At the time, I was studying science at university and as much as I loved it, I found myself becoming increasingly depressed. Why was I doing this? Will I use it for anything? Who am I doing this for? I was also avoiding doing the one thing I’ve always loved, creative writing. Mark’s article forced me to evaluate how much struggle I was willing to have in my life to achieve my goals. I looked at all the things that were hard about the science pathway and asked myself whether I was willing to work that hard to become a scientist. On nearly every answer, I said no. It was depressing as I was already at the end of my second year and because I realised I was trying to prove something to someone else. This wasn’t my pathway.


After a while, I decided to ask myself the same questions about being a writer. Keeping in mind that at this point, my writing consisted of morning pages and a lot of crappy poetry sprinkled with a few gems and some half-hearted attempts at drawing. I jumped online and researched the challenges of being a writer and formulated them into questions. Every single question got a big fat yes! For this, I will struggle, I will burn, I will break. For this I am willing to face rejection, to lose sleep, to keep trying repeatedly.

Because writing means everything to me.

I can’t imagine a life where I don’t write. I’ve been dreaming about this for as long as I can remember, but fear of failure kept my dreams small, and fear of rejection kept me from sharing what I write. Well, I’ve been rejected multiple times and I’ve survived every one of them. I’m learning to see them as lessons rather than failures, and I’m finally listening to the voice that knows this is my path.


Considering this knowledge, I joined a couple of writing groups; one local and one online, both very different. The local group is heavy on sharing and critiquing, while the online one focuses on dedicated writing time. I also had a few semesters at uni where we had to critique the writings of other students. I’ve slowly learned that putting my writing up for critique is doable; sometimes scary, but often very rewarding. I’ve also found that sometimes the critique you get is biased and knowing how to take what is useful on board and let the rest slip away, is helpful on so many levels. Allowing my work to be critiqued is making me a better writer and teaching me different ways of viewing my writing and the world around me. It also showed up all the cliches in my writing.

First time for everything


Last year I participated in National Novel Writing Month NANOWRIMO https://nanowrimo.org/ for the first time. The goal is to try and write a 50,000-word novel in the month of November. I went into it with the idea of ‘Let’s see what I can do.’ I didn’t write a novel, but I did reach my word count. What I came out with was ideas, scenes, and characters for a trilogy. It was bloody hard work and I take my hat off to anyone who manages to write an actual novel in this time. It would have been so easy to give up. My wife and I contracted covid in October, and by November I’d developed pneumonia, followed by gastroenteritis and conjunctivitis. My body was falling apart, but my head and heart were determined. The funny thing is that being sick gave me cause to slow everything else down. No one wanted me around while I was sick, so I was able to dedicate my time to writing, and I did it in a way that allowed me to rest whenever I needed it, and work when I could.


What I also gained from this process was the realisation that if I dedicate myself to something that appears unreachable, I can get so much closer to it than I ever dreamed was possible. I’ve come to appreciate that I don’t know what I can do because I haven’t done it yet, and that’s fine. What I can do is show up and give it a go. Moving forward, I know one of my biggest challenges will be learning how to find the balance between my dreams of writing and art, and my commitments to work, self-care, and the people I love.


This week I submitted a short piece for the Tasmanian NANO Spring zine which will be distributed at The Small Press Zine Fair next month https://www.facebook.com/events/583435487325065
This is way outside my comfort zone, and I was nervous about having a go, particularly as the theme of Spring wasn’t resonating with me. I spent a few hours dot-pointing ideas, eventually deciding that I don’t like spring; so, I wrote about that. I considered using a pseudonym, but in the end, I just went for it. I’m glad I did because the few people who’ve already read it, liked it.

Over the last week I have found myself exploring the zine world again, I had no idea it was still so popular. A friend and I had a go at making zines many years ago and I still have them. I pulled them out to have a read and discovered two very interesting things. Firstly, they weren’t very good, were full of advertising, and had very little creative content. Secondly, I was so proud of my small contributions and I remembered how much fun we had making them. I didn’t give it much more thought, but every night since I have found myself waking up through the night with ideas for zines. Maybe I’ll explore this one a bit further and see where it goes. The idea of doing something that allows me to combine my love of writing with my art is very tempting.


For now, keep reading, keep writing, and keep creating.

Keep doing whatever makes your heart soar.


Namaste
Annie
A.L.A.S


Image: Silhouette of my children on the beach. This painting was submitted to the Minds Do Matter Art Exhibition and received the People’s Choice award. It was the first time I’d ever tried to paint anything.
© Annie Christie-Whitehead 2010

Images © Annie Christie-Whitehead

From L to R: Creative journalling page, Ulverzine 2008, heterometrus sp., shading practice from Visual Arts course in 2021, painting: random ideas of a moonscape, “Together” My first attempt at painting submitted to the Minds Do Matter art exhibition in 2010 – winner of the People’s Choice award.

Blogging101 – Day 2: Take control of your title and tagline.

Today’s assignment: edit your title and tagline.

“Deep inside the forest” I found,

Another Life, Another Story

When I was about 10 years old I came across the tv series, Grizzly Adams, and I fell in love. I fell in love with the man, the animals, and the way of life, but mostly I fell in love with the wilderness. Not long after, my parents took me on a holiday to Katoomba in NSW, Australia and for the first time in my life, I experienced the beauty and tranquility of being surrounded by mountains and forests that took my breath away. At that moment I made a vow to myself that one day I would escape the city and live in a place like this.

Jump forward 10 years and I found myself living in Tasmania, Australia. Still living in the suburbs but surrounded by some of the most amazing wilderness on earth, I dreamt of a day when I could buy a home out of town and finally realise my childhood dream. Over the next 15 years, I spent countless hours roaming through the wilderness, falling more in love every day and finally coming to the realisation that I not only wanted to live in the bush, I needed it. Coming home to the suburbs from these bush walks always left me feeling like there was a huge piece missing from my life. It was only when I was out in the wilderness, surrounded by the tranquility and peace of the forest, that I found I was able to really relax and unwind.

On the 20th of November 2015, my wife and I finally did it. Hmmmm, that is to say, we finally bought a home in a beautiful rural/bush area of North West Tasmania. At the moment we are going through the hectic process of relocating but we are almost there and next week we will finally be living in our new home.

When Michelle asked us to think about the name and tagline for our blog, I realised that a big part of what I want to share with my readers all stems from this childhood dream. I chose Lifetimes (plural) of Gratitude for my site name because I believe that I have lived many times before and I’m happy to stick with that for now but I wanted to change my tagline to reflect the thoughts I’ve written about here today.

“Deep inside the forest” is the first line from the song, Maybe, by Thom Pace which was the theme song for Grizzly Adams. The second part of the tagline is a reference to the way I tag my posts, poetry, stories, and illustrations.
Another Life, Another Story, because I believe this isn’t the first time I’ve been here and probably won’t be the last going on the way I’ve managed to majestically screw up so much of the first 47 years.

My current journey has brought with it a lifetime of dealing with depression and anxiety, autism, gender and sexuality issues, and very low self-esteem. I am so grateful that the last seven years have seen me finally living in a space where I have learned to appreciate my own worth and while I’m sure there will be many lessons to learn throughout my remaining years, I’m very happy with the place I’m in right now.
A large portion of my personal growth has occurred in the wilderness and it’s within this sacred space that I want to share,
Another Life, Another Story.

Namaste

Raven

A.L.A.S

Our new home: “Baile” Natone, Tasmania

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Inspired by Maybe – Thom Pace 1979.

Deep inside the forest
Is a door into another land
Here is our life and home
We are staying, here forever
In the beauty of this place all alone
We keep on hoping
Maybe
There’s a world where we don’t have to run
And maybe
There’s a time we’ll call our own
Living free in harmony and majesty
Take me home Take me home
Walking through a land
Where every living thing is beautiful
Why does it have to end
We are calling, oh so sadly
On the whispers of the wind
As we send a dying message
Maybe
There’s a world where we don’t have to run
And Maybe
There’s a time we’ll call our own
Living free in harmony and majesty
Take me home
Take me home