Invisible Influence

A few weeks ago, Kevin Smith almost died from a “massive heart attack” due to a blockage of his LAD artery – also known as the Widow-Maker.

Thankfully, he survived the encounter, even taking the time out from, y’know, recovering from said heart attack in order to tweet about it from his near-miss deathbed. Total Kev Smith move.

 

 

If he hadn’t pulled through, this would have marked the first of my personal heroes to have died.

This person who I have never met, but have been a fan of since I was teenager, has helped to shape me in countless ways, just as he has for thousands and thousands of others.

From his clever wordplay and irreverent pop-cultural observations to his commentary on everything through nothing helped to mould the way I view the world, myself, and how I wanted to be. How I wanted to write.

We are all an amalgamation of our experiences and influences. Kevin Smith just happens to be one of mine.

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Wary Jubilation

On Monday 19th February, after diligently working on it since November 2017, I completed the vomit draft of my second manuscript.

The very next day I was back to my ‘day job’, earning the cash needed to put food on my table and keep the lights on by [job description redacted] with [expletive deleted] [description redacted].

Because writing in the dark is hard, especially as my process sees me perpetually bathed in the light emitted from my screen.

What’s the alternative? Actually write with my hands? What are you, a barbarian?!

It was a tough reality check after such a personal high, to once again make my way into a day job that was always meant to be a temporary (no pun intended) gig.

Let’s just say it didn’t work out that way. Yet.

My therapist once asked me what I get out of my job.

Satisfaction?

Career ambition?

Happiness?

The answer surprised me.

Time.

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