It has been almost two weeks since I have written a solitary word. In the entire time I have been a scribe, I have never spent such a prolonged period muted. It has been a frustrating period for sure and I have simply had no words during this time. Fellow scribes will know of this feeling well and it is often referred to as writer’s block. It’s a disheartening affair when words fail you; suddenly the font which you draw from habitually simply dries up and you are left with a blank canvas and no idea how to fill it. I have lost track of the times that I have sat in my usual perch staring at this pallid void before me without the vaguest inkling how to stop the rot. Ordinarily this would not be a concern to Keeper as I have learned the ebbs and flows of being a writer and know exactly how to luxuriate the quiet spells. But still words appear to fail me.
The heat certainly hasn’t aided my cause; right now I am baking in intense heat and I don’t traditionally do well under such conditions. England isn’t historically known for its hot climate and we count ourselves fortunate if we receive a handful of successive days to soak in the rays. There are those amongst us who worship the sun and take any opportunity to offer themselves to their fiery idol but I do not fit that criteria. While they lounge about in their deck chairs and make the most of such heatwaves, I scurry into the darkest recess I can find with only my oscillating fan as company, praying for a return to the bleak midwinter. I’m fine with the sun as long as it is accompanied by some form of breeze to take the edge off. As I write this; there is no such thing.
So it would appear as though the blazing conditions are responsible for this sudden dip in creativity. However, this is merely one of many reasons why I repeatedly draw a blank at present. My imagination is vivid and there are usually no end of debauched shenanigans playing out within my personal head space but it has been eerily silent of late and this is not something I have equipped myself for. You could offer me a single word as sweetener and, chances are, I would weave that into some kind of elaborate fiction but nothing has been forthcoming for the most protracted period since I began my expedition two years back and it feels as though there are no fables to tell. This is exactly what you have to watch out for as self-belief can be a fickle thing and it doesn’t take much for you to lose heart in such disheartening circumstances. Ultimately it is all about stopping the rot.
Anybody who knows me will know how vital it is to me that my creativity is encouraged through simple acts of kindness. This is the only payment I receive for services rendered and I find it totally incalculable. Knowing that my work can raise a smile or a nod of appreciation is tantamount to me drawing from my soul each day. There are many wonderful comments about my work and, even if I don’t have time to respond to each individually as is often the case, I do possess an almost photographic memory when it comes to encouraging words and I carry each of them with me without exception. Never once do they go to my head and instead they travel straight to my soul. Each dash of confidence is ploughed into prose and it is here that I can stand on the shoulders of giants. As soon as I rest down my Crimson Quill; I exercise humility once again just as my father instructed years ago.
Should life be kicking my ass as has become customary on occasion during such a turbulent state of flux; then I simply fade to black. By doing so, I leave myself open to the elements of self-doubt, and recline from plain sight once again. Suddenly I am devoid of inspiration as I shield myself from these wonderful words of motivation. As a scribe, I am nothing without my readership, and that is why I post my findings each time I delve into my psyche. I could be writing screenplays or ensuring that my work be published but still I choose against this following this route as I’m like an excitable child when I have something fresh to share. One day soon I will embark on more bankable pursuits but there just hasn’t seemed like the cause to rush. I have spent the past two years growing comfortable in my skin and dealing with any ups and downs as they arrive.
Most critical to me during this period is that I pay everything I learn forward and thus assist in initiating a revolution of sorts. This should not be undertaken solo and is far more effective when shared with those who have the same positive outlook as your own and similar fire in their bellies. I identify these beacons of light and gravitate towards them, holding nothing of myself back, and passing on any nuggets of wisdom that I have discerned during any interim as opposed to playing my cards close to my chest. The horror scene is fit to burst right now and it takes true committment and drive from those willing to drag it forward into the next phase of our transmogrification for us to truly make a difference. Besides, who wants to be alone anyhoots? In many ways the term “independent” couldn’t be farther from accurate as we walk this line in unison.
I will find my voice again as I am passionate and focused in the extreme and spent twenty years in a muzzle already so it is high time I let my gums flap freely. Right now I am waiting patiently for a change to my financial stability and it has taken far longer than was deemed possible. I am tantalizingly close to being able to influence my own destiny and already know precisely what my next move will be once this becomes so. Until this time comes I shall continue to believe, even when faced with hard times and strife. Had I have thrown in the towel when I was at the foot of my chasm then I wouldn’t be sitting here now. Indeed, it is probable that I would have been residing within a furnished pine receptacle right now. I couldn’t fathom getting so close to resolution without standing my ground and digging my heels in one final time. I owe it to everyone who has ever empowered me to believe and also to myself.
I’m a very personal creature believe it or not. Should life be acting without the due graciousness then I have no interest in making such heartache public. That’s just Keeper; I burrow away during such moments and remain dignified and respectful. It may feel as though I am a million miles away during such instances but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. I am here; quietly existing. But I only know how to spread positivity and never be responsible for another losing hope. I’m just not built that way. When my father struggled with an illness that eventually became terminal; he never once allowed me to witness the death of hope. He soldiered on and puffed out his chest. What better hero can a young boy crown than one so resolute against the inevitable? This is partly the cause for my pseudonym being Keeper. I keep on keeping on as it is all I know. I was empowered to do so by a man whose legacy lives on through every solitary word I scribe.
So I’m not currently in the midst of a creative flourish and that is okay with me. I know of my soul and how to access it; such endeavors will always be on the cards as I have no concept of how to surrender hope. As I write this I am walking The Rose Trail, with my head held high and heart beating fast in my chest, and there is unparalleled beauty before me. There can only be one direction to take now and that is forward. Each wondrous blossom guides me. I am therefore no longer silent. Each rose that unfurls is a thousand words and I need never again be found wanting as I enter this brave new world invigorated and more alive than I have ever felt in my life. I will never be silent again while there is sufficient air in my lungs and blood in my fingertips. This essay may be lacking the customary bells and whistles but my soul is very much intact and every word scribed with conviction as has been the case without exception for two years now. I am blessed to be surrounded by unconditional love and that is why, even when it appears as though the font has dried up, the Crimson Quill will always continue to bleed love.
In my prose I know not how to edit myself and my filter has long since been discarded. However, my integrity doesn’t slacken and I still choose what I place in the public domain. Sometimes the lows needs to be recognized in order to feel the highs. So many people around me have their fortitude tarnished by misfortune and there is no escaping such tumultuous torment. We are but human after all. It is what we do with such intelligence that ultimately defines us; whatever we put out into the world informs what we receive back tenfold. Thus, I close this piece of literature with all of the love and gratitude I can muster. Thank you truly for reading my words and paying them forward with such enthusiasm. It is because of you all that I write this now; your endless support is the reason why I share this admittedly somewhat parched piece of writing today. I truly am eternally grateful; silence is really not my thing you see. I just select my words with composure and care. My father taught me that one.
Truly, Clearly, Forever Sincerely,
Richard Charles Stevens
The Keeper of The Crimson Quill