The Library of Fragrance: or The one where I found THE best perfumes ever!

You know that feeling you get when you find something, a concept, a product or a concept that you absolutely adore? That urge to tell everyone you come across of you findings and that hope that they'll be as excited about it as you? 

Well I don't know how you will feel about this my dear readers but I personally, believe I have found something more brilliant than even the coolest sunglasses I have ever seen. Something that I might love even more than the Hunger Games. That's right dear readers, I have discovered a perfume company that sells perfumes which smell like anything. Literally, just about anything. 

And it is called, a name I love almost as much as I love the company itself, The Library of Fragrance. A reference to books!

But more importantly, they have perfumes that smell like food. You can walk around smelling like apple pie or cookies, or caramel! Or even pizza. Pizza. For the love of God. Wouldn't that be incredible? And you'd be confusing everyone as they'd sniff you and confusedly ask you where the pie or the cookies or the dessert or the pizza is. To which you could just reply with an equally confused "What are talking about?" Leaving them wondering where the hell that smell is coming from. Which I think would be hilariously fun!

See look! (Points downwards with giddy excitement):

Then there are also ones like these, which are just superb and gah I want them all!

How you can smell like a moon beam or sunshine I have no clue but I want to try it! Also there's also Paperback, and wouldn't you just love to go around smelling like a book.

You of course may believe me to be a bit insane after that ramble but I assure you I am just slightly in love with this perfume brand. A fact that I just felt like sharing with you.

Have a wonderful day my lovelies!

To Work in a Book Shop

So I wrote a short story I thought I might share with you. It's not brilliant and it was based on a picture-prompt (an image used to inspire ideas) of a shopping centre, which you can find here. It's actually about a girl who works in a book shop and finds it horrendously boring but does manage to have a bit of fun. Which is ironic because I would love to work in a book shop!

It's a very short piece because it is supposed to be flash fiction (this being, essentially, a fancy term for a really short story) and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Acrylic nails tapped out a rhythm in repeated clicks against the shiny surface of the checkout counter. Around her people shuffled through the shop, skimming their fingers over the spines of book after book and then occasionally pulling one off the shelf to inspect the blurb. In that way people do when they’re either having difficulty finding a novel or trying to appear sophisticated but indifferent at the same time. Idiots.

In the right corner, in the children’s section, a flaxen haired boy with dimpled cheeks clumsily thrust a picture book in his mother’s face with a hopeful yet demanding grin. She sighed a little but smiled weakly and placed it on top of the growing pile stacked in her arms. Then in the left corner a man wearing an ill fitted and not to mention god awful brown coat stroked a finger absentmindedly across the upside down cover of a book that she was pretty sure was an exposition on the many unknown uses of snake poison. Every now and then he would look up from the book and cautiously peer at the security camera on the ceiling a few feet away from the check out, then narrow his eyes and the return his attention to molesting the creepy book on snake venom.

She’d noticed him an hour ago but suspected he’d probably been there longer. Her gaze shifted to the phone on the desk and she tapped her fingers in three sharp beats. Despite the immense creepy vibes she was getting he seemed relatively harmless, so she supposed she’d wait another ten minutes. If he was still there then, she’d call security. Probably. But maybe that’d be overreacting. Biting her lip, she surreptitiously glanced up at him again and - Woah he's looking right at her! Best just call security now. He was clearly a rapist, or a serial killer, or a mass murder... or high. He looked like he might be high,

The distinct thump of a pile of books being dropped onto the counter quite rudely halted her train of thought and alerted her to what was probably her first actual customer since two o’clock. It was the tired looking mother and her vibrating son. He blinked wide eyes at her and then grinned toothily, excitedly pointing at the pile of books as if to say, “Look, look! I’m going to read about dinosaurs!”

She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips and sighed inwardly, pulling back her fingers from where they’d been inching toward the phone. Meeting she woman’s weary eyes, she attempted a look she hoped was somewhat sympathetic as she picked up the books one by one and asked, “Would you like a bag for these?”

The rest of the day passed by much the same. She spent an awful lot of time staring longingly at the clock on the wall and the rest of it contemplating calling security. The guy left an hour after the dimpled kid did and she never ended up calling. But it wasn't totally boring. She did manage to have a nice conversation with a girl who seemed to consider Harry Potter to be the epitome of literary excellence and spent half an hour picking up books when a boy with wheeled shoes, she later found out were called Heelys, knocked over a stand while he was skidding around the store and stubbornly ignoring his father yelling after him.

The store steadily emptied and the day seemed to meld into a blur of sounds and colour, muted by the steady passage of time as she watched, in slight desperation, the minute hand tick its way around the clock face. At five o’clock her feet hurt from standing up for so long and she thought her legs might give way as she turned off the lights and rolled down the door. Then she was making her way out of the empty shop and down the escalator, passing by the few remaining shoppers and staff as she walked to the car park. All the while contemplating the reasoning behind why the hell she ever thought it'd be easy to work in a book shop. 

YouTube Channel: The one with the YouTube Art

I spent hours altering my YouTube Channel. I changed my YouTube name to TheresMusicInMyEars and spent ages scouring the internet for pictures and altering things using apps on my computer so as to create a better channel art. I like the end result sure but... I'm still not entirely sure why I did it. Or why I then did it with my blog, my Instagram profile and my FanFiction page. Hmm...

Perhaps I was bored? Well whatever the reason, it took a ridiculously long time for me to settle on this:

But I did, eventually, and I felt like sharing that.

Characterisations

I know I haven't explained the plot of my book but it's just occurred to me that the main character is a remarkable cross between Malcolm from Malcolm in the Middle and the main character in the movie Struck by Lightning. I'm not quite sure how to feel about it either. But I suppose my familiarity with both characters will help me in the writing and general construction of mine. Or something.

Just... putting it out there.

Something of a Love Poem: The one where i decided to write a love poem... or something of the sort.

You frustrate me like nothing else,

But somehow draw a laugh,

You can make me scream like no one else,

But when you’re gone I feel like I’m missing half.

You poke fun at me all the time,

But there’s playfulness in your eyes,

You think my glasses are a crime,

But then you stay up with me to watch the starry skies.

It’s not right how you drive me up the wall,

And get a kick out of it too,

But then pick up the phone when I call,

And when I cry you ask what? Why? Who?

It’s not fair how beneath all the banter,

And aggravating ways,

You care about me like no other,

And somehow I know you’ll be there for me, always.

Because you drive me insane,

When you act so cavalier,

Then when I think there might be air in your brain,

You start acting sincere.

And the real kicker in all of this,

Is that while I might brush you off,

At night I wonder what it’d be like to kiss,

Instead of roll my eyes and scoff.

Because you are the cause of my madness,

But beneath all the grief,

You bring me the very opposite of sadness,

And you might love me just a bit,

Underneath.

And in spite of all the hair pulling,

And your constantly immature teasing,

Your presence is somewhat fulfilling,

Like without you there’s a piece of me missing.

I know it might seem odd to say,

Considering how I treat you,

But I couldn’t imagine not seeing you every day,

And maybe, quite possibly,

I might just love you too.

The one where I decided to write a book.

So, upon careful deliberation, I have decided to write a book. Which may not be entirely as groundbreaking as I have thought, as I have been wanting to write a book since I knew how to read one and understood what an author was. 

But this is the first time that I have sat down and actually mapped out a basic story arc, decided on a goal to aim for and actually had a clear understanding in my head of where I'm going. I am also aware that what I produce will likely not be of a high standard, nor will it be applauded as a fine literary accomplishment, as I am still a novice. A beginner. A teenager. Yes, I highly doubt it will be a masterpiece, but I'm okay with that. Because if I manage to finish it, meet the goal I have been aiming for since I was just a little girl. If I write something that maintains a plot that doesn't meander off into unintelligible thoughts and presents characters which are actually relatable. If I create something decent. What it is, is a start and just that, I believe, should be enough for me.

Quite more than enough honestly.

Beautiful things: The one where I take pictures

Beauty is everywhere.

In the way ...a vine curls over an aged fence and spreads leafy tendrils like spiderweb over peeling paint and wood.

In the way... light reflects on wood, casting shadows and outlining the dust.

In the way... a sunset blasts a different colour into everything and paints a different picture to what it was in the morning. 

In the way a street performer moves with such, ease and grace.

Beauty can be found in the simplest places, you just have to learn where to look.

The Pain of Dishonesty: The one where I contemplate lying

Sometimes people lie.

I've noticed.

Now I’m sure that’s not a new observation, but this is not one made in reference to the big problematic, convoluted, always-going-to-come-out lies that are so often brandished in lurid colours as the most generic plot of a PG rated movie. Typically designed to impart the wisdom of honesty.

Because honesty is wise.

But the thing is, I’m not even sure that people are always aware of when they lie. It occurs to me that sometimes one is not conscious of the fact that they just withheld the truth, a modicum of it though it may be. I know there are days when I've looked back on a conversation only to be halted by the startling realisation that I've been less than honest with whomever I was talking with.

The thing I've come to realise? It’s not generally deliberate.

More of a reflex.

It may not be something that has crossed your mind for more than a moment in passing, but we lie all the time. We lie in greeting, when saying hello in the mornings, in the afternoons, after school and after work.

So often we have this conversation:

How are you?

I’m good, how are you?

I’m fantastic, thanks for asking!

Then-

      …walking away the smile turns into a grimace.

Or something of a similar sort. We almost automatically respond with a positive response, so as to not upset the person we’re talking with. We could be tired, sick, hungry, thirsty or considering pitching ourselves off of floor number thirteen and unless it’s a family member or one of our very closest friends, we feel the need to withhold the truth of how we are feeling. How our days have been.

You okay? You’re looking a little pale.

Oh yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine. Just tired. Nothing to worry about!

Perhaps this is just me, but it’s me observing and this is a conclusion I have come to.

Humans lie every day. Big and small and grand and tall.

Ouch that sunburn looks like it hurts!

Nah, it’s just a little sting.

Then-

    …turn away to hide a wince.

That’s a fact. One we have always known, and one that we probably always shall.

But.

Hey, you know what I said earlier, I didn't mean it in that way. It’s just that, sometimes, you can be a bit… You know I’d never mean it in a mean way. You know that right?

Yeah, of course! It’s fine.

Then-

     …duck head and push back tears.

It’s the little lies, the white ones we say while passing by, which shape some of our darkest days. When, honestly, we could really do with someone to talk to. Someone upon which to vent our frustrations or gain a warm hug. But most of the time, we don’t let them see the hurt.

Just grit your teeth, smile and they’ll go away. They don’t want to know, they’re just being polite.

They don’t have to know you’re not okay.

These mutters of assurances and jovial façades chip away, slowly eroding a little bit more of that thing that’s falling apart inside. Crumbling like a cliff’s edge into a dark, swallowing abyss.

The truth is that among the majority of human beings, when honesty is needed most, we lie. Reflexively, almost fundamentally. We bury it inside, grit out teeth, and struggle on with life.

And it hurts.

Tea: or the saviour of my sanity

Tea is Liquid Gold. 

Something I've come to realise over the past few years. Tea is golden perfection in hot mugs on rainy days.

It warms you, seeps through the sides of your cup and thaws cold fingers, runs heat down your throat and settles comfortably in your belly. 

It calms you, when stress levels are at their peak and you’re about to careen of the crumbling cliff that is your sanity, tea can sooth you. Rein you in.

It invigorates you, after a long day of eating crap and being constantly bombarded by the exuberance of the media and the modern world, it’s a nice constant to have. A shred of dignity untainted by the ever-there promiscuity and indulgence that is society. It’s a good reminder that people over complicate things. After all, while tea is brilliant, it is still just leaves and water. Milk and sugar.

It wakes you up, a nice dose of sugar and caffeine to kick start your senses when your eyelids grow heavy – laden with effort of maintaining consciousness..

It’s utter brilliance.

And honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without it. 

Inevitability

Inevitability. The assumption that such an outcome was always foreseen, not a thing could have intervened. These roads on which we travel were always leading us here. Is that to say we have no control over our lives? Perhaps we all cling to our personifications and assertions and claims to the word 'unique' with such vigour because all outcomes are inevitable. Life lies and seduces us with fanciful things but truly has one plan for us to live out, and there's nothing we can do to change that. Or maybe, just maybe, the term is an excuse. A way of diverting fault from one's self by deeming the fates as reason for all happenings. All -- stumblings, road blockage and mishaps, every last issue or strenuous obstacle -- the fault of that which is out of our control. Perhaps in some cases that assertion holds truth. Undeniably in fact. But it cannot be deemed a satisfactory understanding for all things. Because the day we decide life isn't of our own fruitful design, is the day we stumble blindly and helplessly through crawling days of forgotten dreams. Perhaps we are relaxed, 'cause hey, we're finally stopped moving. But when we no longer care... is happiness even a possibility? For what worth is in life without happiness?

Admittedly, inevitability does exist. But more often than not, we use it as reason not to improve, a way to not be at fault and an excuse not to care. 

Too often do we not care.

Just my thoughts on Inevitability. 

Sunsets in passing

Sometimes I'm in the car, on the way home, and I just can't help myself.

The Conundrum of the Selfie

I don't get it. 

I mean I do it and I still don't understand it..

Why do people take selfies? What is the purpose of these impertinently recurrent, generally-devoid-of-meaning photographs? They inundate social media websites and consume the albums on iPods and iPhones and iPads and every technological device commonly held in the hands of today's younger generations.They're annoying, filtered, self-esteem-damaging and seem to drain meaning out of everything. But perhaps I'm being melodramatic. Just a bit.

I'll admit that I often indulge in the menial activity, so much so that it actually concerns me somewhat. Yet I'm not entirely sure why.

Probably for attention, but then... you don't always show other people the photos you've taken. In the end seflies tend to generate feelings of insecurity, I've found, and in some cases it becomes some sort of addiction. People take seflies daily as if to prove that they are beautiful and reassure themselves that they meet the superficial standards of the modern day society. Which, in all honesty, is a task/thought process that becomes psychologically impairing.

Why capture a snapshot of a moment by taking a posed picture of yourself? Because regardless of how pretty you are in the photograph, it's not how you would usually look. You're fixing your hair, moving to the side that suits you best and then filtering the photograph to improve your skin.

By all accounts, the picture lacks a certain aspect of real.

To be honest I'd much rather take pictures of the way a vine curls over someone's fence or the dappling light glinting through tall trees late in the afternoon. Or storm clouds moving swiftly across the sky on the way home from school, dipping low and bruising a deep blue.

Honestly, you can look in the mirror anytime and those people who see your selfies on their wall? Already know what you look like. Sometimes there are photos you have to take, to preserve the beauty of a moment of a thing.

But, to quote the new television show Selfie, in taking a selfie to try and capture the moment:

"You think that you're getting it, but you are in fact, missing it." ~ Henry Higgs, Selfie.

Just a thought. Or really, a train of thought that started off strong and then kind of petered off into some semblance of a rant or perhaps a random philosophical debate.

Writing

Writing is a peculiar means of communication. One can express emotion and meaning in as little as one word, or they can create a symphony with thousands. One may tell stories, send a message, educate, speculate, evaluate.

There are a thousand different uses in writing and regardless of which, what is formed by the individual person is unique entirely to them. No style is the same. Every writer conducts a different orchestra and composes a different song.

For me, writing is an outlet, an expression, an escape. A world to fall into when my own becomes too much to bear. A place to admit how I feel when my skin is stretched tight over my bones and my stomach clenches like a coiled spring. When I want to shout and cry and scream at the ground and the sky and the moon because why does this have to be so hard. When I can't show how I feel inside and it builds like a pressure until it hurts to breathe. Writing is release. A singular salvation from a tremulous world collapsing under the weight of peer pressure and expectations.

So, that's me. There.

And on a more cheerful note: Welcome to my Blog! The place where I will be talking about anything and everything, about politics, world problems, teenage drama, ridiculous things and sometimes stuff I just have to get off my chest.

Also: writing. Lots of writing. Songs and poems and short stories. Yeah.

Fair warning: Inconsistent posting and general ridiculousness.