Wednesday, November 23

On a Serious Note, I Tell You Something Personal

I feel that it is important for me to confess something personal to you. To explain to you how I am. A lot of you know that I suffer from depression, and I have since I was about thirteen or fourteen. I was at my worst in year eleven, in 2008. But I'm really good and acting normal and not letting it interfere with my life. Or with anyone else's. I'd hate that. If I interfered with someone else's life just because I felt like crap.
I used to tell myself that I was just a little sad, that it wasn't that bad and I'd get over it. It was only when reading old diaries that I realised exactly how bad I was. I am not suicidal, never have been, but I did have a councillor diagnose me with severe depression when I was in year 12 and refer me to a psychologist - who I never went to.
I believe depression is different for everyone. For me depression is a dark, soft creature. The fact that I can only describe it as a metaphor just screams writer, which in turn kind of screams depression. This creature is always sleeping in my stomach. It never goes away. Some of you are aware that I sometimes have these little "breakdowns". Often I will rant on twitter when they happen. This is when the creature wakes and claws it's way up my throat, into my lungs and out my mouth where it sits on my chest, suffocating me. I don't see my depression as a monster or a beast. It's heavy dark creature, as soft as a kitten. But it's got these long sharp teeth that gently bite into my jugular and slowly bleed me out.
This creature terrifies me.
Today the creature stirred and I could feel it clawing it's way up my throat. I'm just thankful I have so many wonderful friends who came and helped me sedate the creature. So thank you, to you all, and maybe one day you'll help take the creature away from me for good.

Tuesday, November 15

Story: Percival X and the Mysterious Blue Parcel

I know I haven't posted anything for ages and you all probably hate me, especially now that I'm only posting this so I can get your opinion on whether or not I should submit this for my Writing Portfolio assignment. This was one of my Writing For Young People tasks in which I was to write a children's chapter book. As it is part of a chapter book, I have included the introduction and a much later extract. It's a story I'd really like to continue with. Tell me what you think.


Percival Xavier Crane, or Percival X as most people knew him, was eleven years old and lived in the eighth floor of an apartment building with his nanny, Mrs McClendon. The reason Percival X lived on the eighth floor with his nanny, Mrs McClendon, was because his parents were lepidopterologists. This meant they were often away, travelling the world, looking for rare species of butterflies. The last time Percival X had heard from them they were hot-air ballooning over the Amazon looking for the Spotted Orange Sundancer.
Percival X’s parents loved butterflies. That’s why they were always running around the world looking for them. Percival X hated butterflies. Even more so, Percival X hated that his parents were always running around the world looking for them. To tell you the truth, Percival X was jealous. He thought that his parents, not Mrs McClendon, should have lived with him in the eighth floor apartment. Better still, he thought that his parents should have taken him with them when they were travelling the world. Percival X would have loved to hot-air balloon over the Amazon, even if it was while looking for the Spotted Orange Sundancer.
Percival X’s parents thought that he was too young to be travelling the world. They thought that a hot-air balloon over the Amazon was no place for an eleven year old boy. They thought that Percival X needed a stable environment; somewhere normal, with normal friends, doing normal things. Thus Percival X stayed at the eighth floor apartment with his nanny, Mrs McClendon. He attended school, he played with friends in the park, he went to movies and he helped out with chores. Percival X lived a normal, stable life.
Percival X didn’t want a normal, stable life. Percival X wanted an adventure. His parents were always off on adventures, whether it was hot-air balloons over the Amazon or something else. Percival X wanted one of his own. It was for this reason he was so excited when he found a parcel on his doorstep early one frosty Saturday morning.
The parcel was odd for a number of reasons. First of all, the mail wasn’t delivered on Saturdays, particularly not early in the morning. Even when the mail was delivered, it wasn’t left on the doorstep. It was put in little mailboxes in the foyer or given to the doorman who then said things like “Ma’am, a parcel came for you this morning.” when you come down stairs. But Percival X’s parcel wasn’t in one of the little mailboxes or with the doorman. Percival X’s parcel was on the doorstep of his eighth floor apartment.
The parcel was a long and flat oblong wrapped in royal blue paper and tied up with pale lacy pink ribbon. In the upper left corner, butterflies had been drawn in silvery ink. There were fifteen stamps taking up the entire right half and scrawled on the left in the same silvery pen as the butterflies were the words:
To Adventurer
Eighth Floor
When Percival X turned the parcel over he did not find the senders name like one usually would with letters and parcels but instead, written in the same scrawl as the words on the front of the parcel was:
Your expedition awaits!

Later Extract

Percival X entered the room with caution. One should never rush into a room gated by a ten foot crimson door that mysteriously creaked open as one happened to be walking by. Percival X placed on hand on the door and the other on the doorframe and peered his head inside, careful to look both left and right to make sure nothing was hiding behind the door ready to jump out and gobble him up.
Once Percival X had diligently checked behind the door he stepped inside and examined the room. His mouth opened into a little ‘o’ and, without meaning to, let out a gasp. At first he thought the floor was carpeted in thick green shag but when he looked closer, Percival X realised he was standing ankle deep in luscious grass. The domed ceiling was painted navy blue, with tiny lights set into it, twinkling like stars. For a moment Percival X thought that he had stepped outside, but the walls proved that that wasn’t the case.
Every wall was lined with glass shelves. They started a foot above the ground and rose all the way to the ceiling. There were no windows in the room so the only place the shelves stopped was across the crimson doorway.
In the centre of the room was a very enormous lounge chair with a very tiny, very old lady perched in it. “Don’t let the door close, dear. It catches.” The very tiny, very old lady said. “And it is awful troublesome to get it open again.”
“I received a parcel…” Percival X began, thinking perhaps this lady could help him, but the very tiny, very old lady interrupted him.
“The door, dear.” She prompted.
“Oh. Right.” Percival X turned back just as the door was clicking into place. “Sorry.” He chewed his lip, “I guess I was too slow.”
The woman sighed a loud, drawn out, sigh, “It really is such awful trouble to get back open again.” She pointed Percival X to the glass shelves and told him to have a good look at them. The shelves were cluttered with hundreds and hundreds of tea cups and saucers and, when Percival X stepped closer, he noticed that none of the cups were with their matching saucers.
“Now.” The lady ordered from where she sat in the enormous lounge chair. “Match them up.”