My Bibliography

Friday, 17 August 2012

My writing journey over the Alps

An oldie, but this is actually taken of me up the the Swiss Alps

As I wandered through those Alps; arduous, never-ending, I encountered many an obstacle along the journey; reached icy plateaus demanding I go back the way I came, to re-tread paths that I thought I'd conquered, and becoming stuck there, sometimes, exhausted, to simply hibernate in a cave, a lone wolf, naïve, hungry, no oasis to quench my thirst.
And I wonder why, for sometimes I'd thought it was pointless, sometimes still, as well.  And besides, there was a road that I could've driven, as others do, a more direct route, smooth and simple, undemanding, crossing boundaries with ease, apparently, and all that should be an obstacle.
But what would I know of the mountain at all, the intimacy of its spiritual essence, its disposition, for those would've eluded my grasp, the magnitude of pride and honour that commands to be scaled?  But my passion intrinsic, my sensibilities committed to the nature of the beast within, like no other I know.  I'd soar that mountainous terrain, sprout wings, learn how to fly, yes, and pass that old road by.
And when I did start out on that venture, blind at first, nocturnal, skulking in the dark of night, eyes eager, flashing; green, then red, so green, and then so red, a young wolf, arrogant, treading ahead without observing the lay of the land, those very rules dictated by the head of the pack from which I chose to stray to charter new territory with maverick way, and where sense was the only thing to be found on sheer cliff faces that scoffed and told me to turn around.
And I did, discovered trails to at least pinnacles low, and clambered upon them, scrambled, my body, exhausted, starved, depleted, resting there till dawn when I could survey my domain, all that I would claim to know.  But when daylight broke, my imaginary reward; that vista, hazy, still, an early morning mist lingering on a precipice, a gaping mouth to swallow me whole, still, daring me to find a foothold to climb to the limit of the sky where an abyss of imagination waited to be soared, or to plummet me to a bottomless pit of no substance.
And catching sight of higher peaks off in the distance, my name whistling between them, I reached a treacherous terrain of which I knew better now, jagged, unwelcoming, infinite, detrimental to body and mind, but inviting all the same, challenging, goading me all the while, in that I did not have strength, dared me to continue that quest at my will, at my peril, threatened that it'd eaten stronger than I.  Yes, easy to hitch a lift, that road right there, beckoning.  But what of respect; of staking my flag?  No, that road has no end, no honour, no destination where I would go.
Forward, the only way, the hard way, and as it should be, lest I lay down and died, lest I relinquished all that I could prove myself to be.   And so I ate but a berry or two along the way, to sustain the body that feeds my mind, as I dragged it across a rocky terrain of high and low, my latent madness to accompany me, hearing it whisper all the while, encouraging, but mocking me all at once, confusing me, as I inched forward, for I could only inch, to reach out and grab that, which came into my sight.
Yes, I summoned that strength instilled in me from another terrain, another madness never mine to claim, but of which I suffered, conquered against the odds to return me strong, that brought me to my battle here today, where, at last, I may reach, on hands and knees, dizzying heights of a pinnacle of which I may breathe thin air to leave me breathless, for through my blindness, the very pain of my vision, I see vistas, laid out before me in pastures bright, and a mossy hill to roll down upon that will stop me at the feet of a couple of Sherpa's waiting at the foot of the Himalayas.  But I don't need them now.  Do I?

"Fuck off Sherpas," I said.

**Important Note**

The above post started out as a blog post about my writer's journey, it was only meant to notify my readers that an end of an era is here; in that I have actually been able to put the words, 'Final Edition' on my Prickly Scots titles.   Many will know that I have written many other stories since, but Prickly Scots has seen me through the years of my training, was the first book I wrote as an adult, initially, without any kind of training, and has been rewritten and rewritten time and again the more my skill evolved with the necessary training and by gaining experience as a writer - my Golden Gate Bridge, if you like.

However, over the last few weeks, the entire book got yet another overhaul, each chapter lovingly edited three times each, to try and implement something of the writer I am today - a very hard task when you have to deal with all the errors and rookie mistakes of your previously amateur self; I could've written a whole new book in this last month.  And I found while doing it this time, that I knew it would be the last, I didn't actually need, or want to change it much at all - a first.  That of course, as easy as the edit was this time, brought me to a realisation, of how far I've come these last seven years; from the early days of joining an amateur writing site, where I started to understand more of the formulaic aspects, onto becoming top writer there, to the writer I am today, who has garnered the attention of some pretty important people, including, recently, a highly respected international best selling author who sent me a lovely message based on something else I wrote, and told me that she had purchased one of my books.  Humph.  Now, if that doesn't mean that I've scaled a mountain or two, then I don't know what would.  I can only hope that it might hold up to her expectation.
Again, Prickly Scots Pts I & II are finally complete, if you have either of these, or the collective volume, please update your copy on both Amazon and Smashwords (especially if it’s a really old one, my God please do that!) and make sure that the copy you have says 'Final Edition' under the title on the first page.
Finally, not only did I complete Prickly Scots', but also earlier this year, I revisited my entire body of work, and brought it all up to scratch too, so, if you own any of my other books, they all may be updated (even if they don't say Final Edition) for they are all far more sophisticated than their early editions were - and beautifully formatted and indexed too.
I have no choice now to get on with all my new stuff now that my babies have finally left home.  I might even go out in the sun, and... oh yes... I found a little puppy under my desk.... his name is MacGregor, apparently.
Save a buck and get the two books for one here at Amazon or Smashwords


  1. Congratulations!!! I'm so happy for you and MacGregor, and me too when I finally get to read all your finished work. Thank you so much for letting your readers (fans) know. Cheers! And enjoy the Sun. You deserve it SP. Regards, snakeslane (it's so funny, none of these are my real name, well actually Jean is my middle name, and I've considered using it as a 'nom de plume' but enough about me, it's your day...)
    Did you really climb to the top of that mountain? Amazing!

  2. followed over from Facebook, and just have to say BRAVO! Yes, you've come a long way, SP. I know you'll have more and more successes.
    Now, about MacGregor, does he run ahead a few steps and stop to see that you're following? He puts me in mind here that he's waiting for you to get on with the walk. I ask, because that's how Lilybear does, and I really find it endearing. She's two this month; time does fly.
    Just as, you have seven years behind you, from the conception of Pricklys to its Final edit...that's not bad; some authors, myself being one, has books going back into the 1980s...I still have faith in them being publishable...given that I continue having good health, strength, and the time to finish them.
    The best of the lot, at least, will be done; I have the determination and the will, and that is what it takes.

  3. Yes, I did, and I think I know your real name... thanks Jean. Thanks Wayahowl, and yes he does, he is the only one that loves me... and I think if you have unfinished books from the 80s then they might just be looking to see where you are too.


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