writing

Anxiety (WIP)…

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Another excerpt from my upcoming WIP.

Society alone can give you anxiety, a stressful home life or working environment can trigger these emotions and feelings too. If on the way through your life though, what if you didn’t get the necessary experience to understand how to cope or know what was going on.

What if you didn’t ever develop coping mechanisms or recognise what might be a weakness in yourself or potential strength? Then how can you hope to make it easier for yourself and work through it? This is the type of question I ask myself, then go to work trying to unravel what it really means. I also know you don’t have to have had a dysfunctional life to feel anxiety, it can happen to anyone, but it definitely makes the path a bit harder…

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(c) K Wicks photographer

I needed to know…

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These are two cases of self inflicted injuries in my childhood, quite unnecessary really, both of them. Some lessons are painful, and these are two of those. Sometimes I just had to prove something to myself, even if it was just what other people had told me.

I think I was about 7 and I had a bike. I loved it and would blat to the shops or down to my friends house, no problems. This one day, while biking to what we called ‘the 10 0’clock shop’ – probably no mystery as to why. Running parallel the very straight road, was another road with a row of houses, but was steeply dipped, coming up at the shop. So I decided to take the dipped road, with the intention of peddling as fast as I could down, so that it was a hard slog up, but you got some momentum behind you. Sounded like a solid plan, and it was.

Until for what would appear to be no reason at all, I started to wonder if what I had been told was true. Does your front wheel buckle if you let go while going fast? Now, you may think this thought might have just been dismissed and I continued on my speedy way. No. I wanted to know. Had to know. So, I did let go. And true to the information I had been given, my front wheel did buckle. I had not given thought to what really would happen next. What did happen next was a lot of pain, a fair amount of blood, some smashed in front teeth with one now missing, and a random lady coming out of one of the houses to help patch me up. I felt stupid, I’m not going to lie. And wasn’t really sure what it was that had made me do it, I had put logic to one side and just went for it. It scared me a bit, when I started to understand what I was capable to doing to myself. We are very breakable, and I guess as children it can be a hard time learning that.

Around the same time in my life, we had dogs, three of them. One of them in particular had an issue with things coming through the letterbox. Anything that came through was, for want of a better word, savaged. So, again, in my ridiculous childhood thought process, wondered. Could it be possible, that if I put my hand through the letterbox, will it get treated with the same contempt. You guessed it, i had to know. And the answer is yes, but only temporarily. In the dogs defense, as soon as he realised it was my hand, he let go, unfortunately his tooth had punctured one of my fingers, there was screaming, and lots of blood. A few stitches in my index finger and I was fine, but started to see a pattern forming. I didn’t trust what I was told and felt the need to prove these things, even at great cost to myself. It was here I think I first started to understand about instinct and how you are just going to have work out some things for yourself. Where others may be giving you really sound advice, take heed. That does not mean take the advice, but keep it in mind.

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(c) K Wicks

Death of the High Street…

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This has been a familiar term to me for years. Not too long ago we saw the shift from going to the high street to do your shopping, to driving out to industrial estates with huge Supermarkets selling everything under one roof. The convenience can’t be denied.

But I am one for saving what should be saved, so I have been looking at what it is that I no longer enjoy about the high street. Previously I used to enjoy being able to walk to town, go to the post office, maybe a charity shop or two, pick up some stationary and maybe pay in a cheque. Just a small list of jobs could involve a minimum of four premises, with a possible stop in a book shop or other clothing shop. But as times have changed this is no longer an option.

Most post office have now closed in smaller villages and in towns have been assimilated into convenience stores, often the staff looking confused at the most simple request. Most clients now pay online, so the need to ‘pop’ to the bank just isn’t there. And none of us could have escaped Amazon, anything you can want, within a day. Saving you travel time, parking fees and shopping time. That’s got to be a win. In comparison, the delivery fees are cheaper than your time. This is a slightly separate but related issue – the infrastructure of this country. It takes an awfully long time to get anywhere by way of a motor vehicle. Not just due to congestion and idiotic road works (where you have a massive piece of road sectioned off for a tiny piece on the pavement, and no one working on it!), but we don’t seem to have a logical system of traffic lights either. No-one looks at the overall flow of traffic, because surely if people can get where they are going, we can all get on and either spend money or make money. After all, that’s what it’s all about apparently. If people can get to work, the economy grows, this is why I am starting to think its meant to be this way, because some things are so easy to improve.

So it takes an age to drive to your high street if you can’t walk, and you will have to pay for parking if you can find any. We very rarely encounter a free car park here (that’s also where the large shopping estates won, they had free massive car parks). Lots of shopping centers within towns have many empty shops and what you do have doesn’t seem to be anything people want.

But, aside from the problems of cost, need and availability for shops there is another issue. We come to quality and customer service. Both of which I now think are long gone. I have worked in retail, as well as hospitality and commercial offices before going into finance, so I do understand what it takes to do these jobs. Most of my recent disappointing experiences in establishments have been down to the people or the product they are selling. It could well be that I have indeed managed to move somewhere that is feeling more and more like a cross between Hot Fuzz and The League of Gentlemen. I do not expect to be looked up and down when booking an appointment, I do not expect to be told ‘no we don’t sell hydrangeas’ when they are literally right behind me it turns out. And I don’t expect to wait for over five minutes before no-one appears, or served moldy food in the shop down the way. This is only within a few months, but it gives me an idea of what is going wrong. I can now say I won’t be putting my money into my local shops and I would say this is the suicide of the high street, not just the death of. I guess the old saying springs to the mind in these instances “If your face doesn’t fit…” But money is money in my book, and manners and etiquette come for free, so no excuse. There are so many things bothering me about this country at the moment, I feel this may not be the last rant!

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(c) K Wicks

Decisions…

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I think it all started with the first real decision that was put upon me.

‘Who do you want to live with? Your mum, or your dad?’

I remember the room, I remember the solicitor and her name. I remember the feeling, the emotion, and confusion and ultimately the decision that I felt was so heavy on my shoulders. I didn’t understand why they were asking me, I was nobody, the youngest. I was 7. I looked at my older siblings and understood they would say mum, so I took the unspoken implied lead and said what I thought I should say. It was power I didn’t want. I almost feel as though I stepped out of my body to make this decision and once I was out, I could see myself as a person. Sudden self-awareness all at once while under pressure, it was overwhelming and enlightening to say the least.

And from that I believe, my ability to make decisions was affected, either for good or bad I’m not entirely sure. But I have spent much time in my life mulling over the fallout from that, how many lives were changed forever just from that one question and answer that followed. My self-awareness became like a friend and a dark shadow to me after that. I was a child trying to learn how to function in a society I was already part of, but felt more apart from than they could ever know. Trying to work out other people’s intentions, while constantly questioning your own makes it hard to join in and just be yourself. I didn’t know who ‘myself’ was. And I didn’t join in. I was invited to very few birthday parties in my childhood and although I lived in a socially busy house, my home was not really open to friends from school unless they had been ‘vetted’ by my mum. This was awkward in itself and I found it easier to just not invite people home or go to their house instead. They usually had quite normal parents and it was nice sometimes to pretend to be a normal happy go lucky child, I could pull it off for a few hours at a time.

I was troubled though, I won’t lie. My awareness may have increased, but my understanding did not. And this started to lead me into all sorts of trouble and behaviours. I struggled to adapt to life, like many I’m sure. But sometimes I wonder if I ever really got over the sudden change and sense of responsibility, could it be that someone can spend their whole life being in shock?…

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(c) K Wicks

Different Futures…

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Another excerpt from my work in progress…

Before we knew of Aphanstasia we decided to move to Spain. It was a leap of faith, we hadn’t been married long and tried to think of the best way to use our resources to have a good life. We discussed everything and we moved. It was hard and there was a lot to organise and sort out, but because he functioned great in the moment, it seemed a breeze really.

Only a small hiccup of a drunk taxi driver at the last hurdle trying to get to the airport to leave. But another one saved the day and we got there. The drama that unfolded when we were there though couldn’t have been anticipated and was caused mainly by a long list of shoddy agents and bad neighbours. We didn’t really have a chance to settle down and find our feet to plan anything. Instead going from one idea to another and having to change it every other week because of what we had found out, or how we had been treated. It was extremely frustrating. And it was in these frustrating times that we stumbled across this major difference in our thought process. He wasn’t planning ahead at all, he had no concept of our future in Spain and never had. That kind of explained why he always seemed to have objections to things, he speaks his mind at the time, there’s no saving it for later. It can make him seem quite outspoken, but it really isn’t on purpose I now know.

I have to be honest though, when I realised I was on my own with planning our future, it sealed the deal for me. I was already struggling and had thought I wanted to come home, I just didn’t want to ruin it for him. But deep down I must have known we weren’t going to be staying in Spain. I was grossly under prepared going there anyway (I can’t even speak the language), and knew this was the right thing to do.

I couldn’t do it for us both not on home soil. I had spent over thirty years working out how to function in this society, it sounds awful to say, but I actually felt too old to go through it all again. I needed the support of familiarity – not people, or friends as they are thin on the ground, but where I recognised. I realised that was my reference point, my safety zone. I felt like a duck out of water and wanted to correct it as soon as possible. I don’t often live with my mistakes once I have acknowledged them.

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(c) K Wicks (Photography taken in Spain)

When you forget you’re a grown up…

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My self inflicted ridiculous injuries seemed to get less after I grew up, but the end of them was marked with a big one.

I was 22, and had been working the Friday all day and was a couple of hours into another double shift on the Saturday as a bar manager. It was around lunchtime and the overall pub manager decided to put in an appearance, with an attitude of someone who was up very late and hadn’t really been to bed yet. I was not in the mood and decided today was the day to tell him to ‘do it himself then’ and storm out, which I did.

Then proceeding to go to the park instead with my friends on that hot sunny day and have a few drinks. Naturally staying in the park seemed boring so it was decided to go to the woods to check out a potential party site that we had heard about. My friends were a bit of a party lot. Cue a drive up into the woods and a small trek to a patch with a big dip and a rope swing. Yes, the rope swing. Can you guess what happened next?

Well, in my vaguely drunken and annoyed state, I had deduced that it would be a good idea to have a go on the rope swing. Got myself into position and swung out, but knew the moment I did, something was off. Nothing was wrong with the branch or the rope, but it was me. In my head for a split second I had been 12 again, full of it and bold. But in my stupor had misjudged it, the weight ratio was off and I knew I couldn’t swing round the tree and back onto my feet. No, I was going to swing out and straight back into the tree itself.

But there really was nothing I could do by that point except be correct. It happened as I saw it, I swung into the tree, hitting my ankle as I did and then back out into the middle of the area, still holding onto the rope and stick for a seat. The drop was about 10 feet, so I didn’t want to knowing I would land on my ankle. I didn’t have a choice, I dropped to the floor. The pain was immense and I started to try and stand before I realised it was really bad. The male friends I was with said I would be fine and disappeared over the way to check out the site, leaving one with me to try and help me walk. Minutes later they returned and leaned over the edge saying,

“Oh shit, is she still crying, we better get her out of there”…

Luckily they came through when they knew I was really hurt, carrying me back to the car and getting me to the hospital. Where I got given a tubigrip and a pair of crutches and told to go to the general hospital over 10 miles away – cue another favour from a friend. I happened to chose a bank holiday weekend for my injury so it was packed and faced with a minimum four hour wait and in lots of pain, I went home to return the next day.

So finally two days later what turns out to be a broken ankle is fixed, my leg is in cast and I am signed off work. I learnt my lesson there to not drink when annoyed, don’t think you are young when you are not, and don’t let people get to you. Easier said than done sometimes!…

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(c) K Wicks

The Hay Bale Incident…

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I’m not sure if everyone was prone to accidents when they were a child, I was sort of a tomboy and liked getting into it and giving it a go, which given my lack of awareness and balance, often led to some comedic accidents.

One of which I will share as it still amuses me very much to this day. As the title suggests, it does indeed involve a hay bale. So, I am 12 at the time, I lived in Hampshire as part of an army camp but not a restricted one. Squaddie brat was the term for us kids of the military folk and I think I lived up to the name quite well. We used to have to find things to occupy ourselves outside of school as all children do although on Thursdays I did used to attend cadets. During the specific school holidays the army were very good at providing activities and schemes for us while parents still had to work. These would include shooting, swimming, PT and other type things. But the rest of the time, we were mostly up to no good.

We were lucky enough to be surrounded by lots of countryside, fields and woods and as much adventuring as we could fit it. But come the late summer we had lots of large round hay bales begin to appear in field out the back of our estate. A game was devised, or trick if you will. Here it was, push the one ton hay bale down the slight incline of the hill, grab onto the netting covering said hay bale, hook your fingers into it and get pulled over with the now moving bale. The trick being a crafty leg swing as you are pulled over the top, and releasing your fingers at the same time. Which all going well, puts you in front of the hay bale while it now picks up speed down to the bottom of the field.

The principle was simple, and I see two of my friends complete this seemingly new manoeuvre without any issue or hesitation. I know what must be done and take my turn. But what I didn’t factor into this, was my lack of skill. I did not lack bravery or willing when I was younger, but as I got older the evidence became clear that I lacked skill, and this is what kept leading me into injury.

So, I stepped up to my hay bale and gave it a push, both hands in front of me starting the motion, I chose my moment to grip onto the plastic netting and was instantly pulled upwards towards the top. I swung my legs round as best I could planning the same smooth stunt I had witnessed, but something went wrong. My fingers didn’t unwrap from the netting, my legs didn’t quite go all the way round, and instead of jumping in front of it, I went with it. Imagine a steam roller made of hay with a person on it. That’s what happened. I went straight over the front of it and then proceeded to be crushed by it. Luckily only having some bruises and cuts on my face and a sore rib cage. I had to go home to my mother an explain why I had odd scratches and bruises down one side of my face. She laughed, a lot.

I would like to say that was a one off, an isolated incident, but I would be lying. My younger years really were filled with a number of mishaps…

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(c) K Wicks photographer

Anxiety & Mental Time Travel…

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The following is an excerpt from a book I am currently writing, initially to observe the differences between an Aphantasiac (my husband) and a Hyper-Aphantasiac (myself) but it has revealed quite a bit more to me about how the brain works than I had realised. By stumbling across the term Mental Time Travel and understanding and really seeing how it has impacted my life, has given me another perspective.

‘My anxiety and previous attempts to avoid it at all costs have caused me much embarrassment in my life. So as I got older, I chose to acknowledge what it is about the present and future I imagine to be so scary or nerve wracking and try and deal with that.

Society alone can give you anxiety, a stressful home life or working environment can trigger these emotions and feelings too. But if on the way through your life, what if you didn’t get the necessary experience to understand all this and know what was going on. What if you didn’t ever develop coping mechanisms or recognise what might be a weakness in yourself or potential strength? Then how can you hope to make it easier for yourself and work through it? This is the type of question I ask myself, then go to work trying to unravel what it really means.

What I did work out was to spend less time worrying and trying to predict the outcome of things I hadn’t done yet or hadn’t yet happened. This is where I feel mental time travel has held me back a bit, I missed out on a lot of experiences because I couldn’t stop theorising what would happen and how I would feel. I have a good memory for feelings, so unfortunately I still come across an event or idea that would require me to be in the presence of ‘people’ and I just can’t do it – however much I might want to be a part of the subject matter. Not because I am always anxious, but because now I have experience to know I just don’t want to do it and will be awkward and can seem rude. There are some things I just like the idea of, but I ‘walk’ myself through and it does always end the same. I’m bored, out of place and want to go home.

This isn’t negative, this is realistic. I am not a happy go lucky person, and I can deal with crowds if I have to, and I can go to conventions or festivals if I want. I have just worked out I don’t want to, I am not that person. I just tried to be for a really long time. I don’t socialise now at all, have very limited family and keep myself to myself mostly in real life, and I am happier and more stable for it. But it is a shame to think that in order to have a quiet enjoyable life you can’t have people generally in it. But I know that’s because people are the random element I cannot foresee, predict, control or understand fully. I myself am included in that.’

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(c) K Wicks – words and photography

Doing it yourself…

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This may end up being just a list of tasks along the self publishing route but I have new respect for the procedure and the people that make that happen. Having undertaken all the aspects myself it’s not an easy or quick task.

I find writing the novel or stories is only a small part of it. It’s the finalising your story, editing, formatting, cover design and marketing. Making it ready for public consumption. Everyone who makes this happen, I salute you.

It’s a different kind of tiring when completed, quite draining but ultimately rewarding. However well the book does in the long run, it’s what I’ve always wanted to do.

(c) K Wicks photographer

Why do you want to scare people?…

~ MKW Publishing ~ 5 Comments

It’s an odd thing for me, horror. I have defended it, been scared by it, wanted to read it, watch it and write it, and by extension, share it.

Now I give more thought to why I feel the need. I would say my childhood was both molded and traumatised by horror films and books (mostly films), yet I cannot leave it alone. They have partly made me who I am, shaped my phobias and fears and set me upon this path.

But I wonder, should people like me share the story in it’s full unbridled horror, or should we filter it? For those who don’t have an imagination themselves or are limited with it, are we just putting unnecessary concepts and ideas forward? Ones that shouldn’t have ever got out? And after we have written it, it can take on a new form where the horror or idea no longer belongs to us, is no longer down to the imagination. Film and its brutal visual imagery assault can be both impressive and terrifying. But lets be clear, it is an assault on the senses. Just one we choose. But why?

All stories can evoke feeling and emotion, so why do we choose to put ourselves through heartbreak, love, horror, fear, intrigue and laughter, for something that is not happening to us or anyone we know. Is it because it is safe? Because it isn’t happening to us and we can just pause, identify from afar or turn it off? Unlike real life.

I am in two minds about whether we should, just because we can…

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(c) K L Wicks