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Today is one of those days when I’m not motivated at all. What I really would love to do, is have a hot chocolate, a nice book and curl up on a grandfather armchair right next to the fireplace in my library which is stocked with thousands and thousands of books.

Unfortunately, this is just a fantasy and besides the book I could read and maybe the hot chocolate, I don’t have any of the other things. Though with that I might have more than millions of other people, so I better stop moping around and be happy about the things I have like, a few pictures of a really nice autumn.

Click on the pictures to enlarge them.

So what is it that make you feel better when you are moody and not motivated at all?

Do you see the light?
It’s twinkling,
blitzing
and blinking.
It’s asking me
to come closer,
closer,
closer.
Begging,
pursuing me.
It warms me.
The light shines into me,
and right through me.
It fills the darkness
and casts the memories away.
It saves me,
warming every cell,
and fills me
with truth.

Do you see the light?
It’s speaking to me.
Telling me things
I always knew,
opening my eyes
to see,
what I ignored before.
To see,
what I have been blind to.
It shines behind me,
illuminating my past.
It shines in front of me,
guiding me,
on my last steps.

Do you see the light?
It’s carrying me,
light
and soft.
Like a tender kiss,
lifting me
up,
high
into the sky.
It won’t let me fall.
It fills me completely.
We are one.
It shows me the way,
off the cliffs.

Ii know the monster in my closet pretty well and I have to admit, that I’m also quite proud of it. I mean, who can say that of themselves? Usually, the monsters lurk in your closet or under your bed and wait until you fall asleep. Then they start making noised. Depending on the monster the noise will be different, what also depends on the location the monster is hiding at. Let’s say, you can make different noises in a wardrobe than under the bed and it’s heard differently by the person trying to sleep or waking up again from monster’s sounds.

This is just to give you a very basic idea of different monsters and their sounds.

The thing is, I used to be a regular kid. With regular friends and regular interests, until I discovered the monster in my closet. Screeching, scratching, making monster noises.

At first, it was really scary for me. I mean, I was a real kid with regular problems and – of course – had heard all the horror stories of monsters everywhere. Eventually, they would come out of the closet and eat you alive. The worst was, that you couldn’t tell your parents. They wouldn’t believe you.

So I kept living in fear of being eaten alive, until one crystal clear night. I could hear the monster in my closet, but this time it didn’t screech and scratch on the wooden inlay of the wardrobe. This time I heard it weeping, oh so softly.

At first, I tried to ignore it. It might be a trick after all, and as soon as I would give in, it would attack me and eat me alive. Nope, I wasn’t that easy.
Three hours later, I finally crouched towards my closet. Carefully, minding each and every step. I didn’t want to spook it and maybe change its mind, but I guess an elephant could have passed by and the monster would have continued to weep.

Eventually, I reached the closet. Blanket ready, in case the monster would jump me; I slowly – very slowly opened the closet door.

There it sat, curled up in the deepest and darkest corner of my closet. The monster. With monster tears running down his fluffy monster cheeks.

Could that monster really eat me alive? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Are you OK?” I asked, still having the blanket ready just in case.

The monster shook his head and sniffed heavily.

“Do you need a tissue?” I asked and handed over my blanket. The monster accepted, blew his nose and handed the blanket back.

“Thank you.” it hiccuped. Then it jumped up and hugged me. I thought I’m going to die, but instead I ended up padding the monster on the back and telling it that everything will be alright.

And in the end, it was. We became friends; best friends actually and I can only tell the other kids which are still afraid of the monsters in their closet, that they should just try and approach them. It’ll be just alright.

Black cat,
tail twitching.

Black cat,
eyes glist’ning.

Black cat,
claws showing.

Black cat,
blood flowing.

Black cat,
heart stopping.

Black cat,
witch hopping.

Black cat,
broom sweeping.

Black cat,
soul reaping.

Black cat,
tail twitching.

Black cat,
body ditching.

I'm moodyNow it’s been forever that someone managed to demotivate me and even made me stop writing completely, but the article I read just recently did exactly that.

I won’t be linking to the dreaded piece, but basically the post was about that you shouldn’t call yourself writer or even author, if you don’t have the skills. It went on, that most people fail on writing a book, because they don’t know the structure it requires and writing itself is a hard thing – and not a bit fun – anyway and should be only done, if you know what you’re doing. Therefore – of course – the author would be able to provide the fitting book that he just published.

I don’t know what he tried to accomplish with that article besides selling it to people who knew what they’re doing, but all it did to me was to demotivate me. I even started to debate with myself, tell me that

  1. I shouldn’t call myself a writer, because I don’t do it professionally
  2. I shouldn’t write in English, because it’s not my native language
  3. I shouldn’t write at all, because I basically have no idea what I am doing here

In the end, my boyfriend found me curled up on the couch with lots of chocolate and salt sticks trying to hide my moodiness. Even though he told, that I’m writing for myself and for fun in the first place, he still couldn’t make me pick up the pen again. That went on for a few more days, until I told my sister the story.

You should have seen her face!

She just threw me a stern look. “Bollocks! I also call myself a rider even though I just ride in my neck of the woods. Does that make me less a rider compared to the competition riders? Nope! I still have a horse I sit on. And just because your stories are all short, only your blog available and you didn’t publish a few hundred books, it doesn’t mean that you’re not a writer. You still have a pen and paper, and you’re still writing. So tell that dude to go away with his negativity and do your thing!”

Yes, Ma’am!

So here I am. Writing, and happy because I am a writer – no matter how good or bad – and because I have an awesome sister! Don’t let them get you down, what goes around, comes around and it’ll get them some day. Write on!