Exciting news! I have launched a Substack page, where I be posting all my latest blogs. I’m still going to publish blogs on Awaken your inner power, just I’ve decided to branch out my writing to a larger audience. The material I create and publish there will be free (for now). And I encourage all my readers to check out and subscribe to my page, over there on Substack. This would be greatly appreciated, because as a writer it’s vital to expand readership and to build a presence. Click on the link below to check out my page, and if you’re interested in subscribing for free.
https://substack.com/profile/15052759-peter-breeze
It always starts with a blank page. A blank canvas. An utter blank.
Absolutely nothing. But what appears as nothing, is actually unlimited possibility.
That’s the beauty of writing.
So, I dive in and take a splash into unchartered waters…
I put pen to paper, fingers to the keyboard. And bosh. Something happens. And I’m off.
Where to? Who the fuck knows???
But I’m going somewhere, and life opens for me. I become alive. Suddenly I’m venturing into unknown worlds and universes. And it’s a place far beyond any preconceived notion of what is established reality.
It’s somewhere unique and exciting, where I find myself swimming through unexplored oceans and leagues.
Until suddenly I’m the silver surfer riding colossal waves, and writing is the enthralling adventure it can be.
How do I do it? There is no ‘how’, first off. There’s no manual for this, writing isn’t mechanics, nor is it following a recipe to bake a cake.
Writing from The Heart, The Gut, The SPIRIT doesn’t involve a system. There is no system for it.
What one can write about is infinite, unlimited, and endless in scope. That infinite quality can’t be reduced and boiled down into some kind of mechanical broth, to then be bottled up and sold on Udemy – as a ‘system for writers’.
I reached the conclusion that if I am to write, and to be a writer, then I will be writer who writes without fear, with all caution thrown to the wind.
I write what bursts from my imagination, and I trust in what my imagination brings forth from the depths. I don’t censor what comes forth, I give my imagination it’s due. I know it’s alive and kicking, that it’s fired up with searing intensity. So, whenever I can call upon it, it’s there to ignite and set ablaze the page with something explosive, expressive and electric – that will send jolts shuddering inside me and engulf my entire being with sheer joy and ecstasy.
After that it is work. Hard fucking work that’s stimulating and uplifting, I write until my fingers bleed and I’m pissing snot.
And if doubts or fatigue creek in along the way, it’s time to call upon personal reserves of titanic Faith and Determination, to further fuel the creative fire, and pursue further my literary ambitions.
It’s relentless. And for those who have ambitions to write, you’ve got to be relentless, and throw all your chips in, as the riverboat gambler.
There is no room for compromise!
Call upon these immense faculties and inner resources which I’ve described, and their combination, provides you with the raw ingredients to be a writer.
All this falls short of course, if the love and burning desire to write isn’t there, but that goes without saying.
That love and desire, it’s there inside me. I can feel it coursing through my veins.
Writing and creating is to my soul, what breathing is to my body.
What I also know, with iron clad conviction, is that I feel in my bones, and in the fibre of every fibre sinew – that writing becomes electrifying when it’s free and improvised; and expressed from a space of tremendous passion and generosity of spirit.
As a writer, I choose to create and live outside of a cage. And not allow myself to be seduced and held captive in a cage built by any collective consensus.
There is enough caged novelists, journalists, and poets out there. They’re ‘dime a dozen’ (bit of an Americanism there). Or ‘ten a penny’ for the anglicised equivalent.
I know there are many desperate writers who censor and shrink their creative capacities, and pander to their fake liberal publishers and audiences – who built a cage for them, they falsely perceive as a palace gilded with gold, which they think contains inside a feast – abundant with loaves of bread.
The literary spheres have become overwhelming occupied and infiltrated by the woke mob. Those crazies view the spheres of creativity as merely a platform from which to promote and spout political and social propaganda.
The upper and even lower echelons of the literary establishment that’s composed of online media companies, publishers, newspapers, and bookshops – are run by schizoid Wokeys.
And for any writer to attract and garner the opportunity to have their writing published, promoted, and eventually sold within these tightly bound and censored spheres – Then they must adhere to the doctrine of full-blown woke madness; like good little boys and girls.
Talented but spineless writers bow down before the Woke alter. Where they sell out and exchange down their innate and unique creative impulses- for approval from Highers up in the literary priesthood, who hand them down their holy crust of bread.
The contemporary literary world is pullulated with writers playing to the woke liberal audiences. They spew Woke lexicon such as ‘Diversity, inclusion, equality’ onto the page, and then call it ethical creativity. I call it horse-crap wrapped in modern fake liberal bows and sprinkled with unicorn dust.
‘Go Woke, go broke’ a phrase frequently thrown out there by many art and literary critics. But what form of broke I ask? I’d say the sell-outs to woke are rolling in the moola, they’re stacking the cheddar miles high – after all, vermin love cheese. Maybe they’re morally bankrupt and gone overdrawn in their integrity accounts.
Whatever it may be. Their writing takes the hit, and turns to shit.
Because writing for the approval of others, particularly for the hideous and insidious Woke crowd, will compromise any form of artistic expression. And this reflects in the tepid and flat writing they drip onto the page.
The drip drops of their deadened language profusely bleed from their self-inflicted wounds. A good job I guess they’ve got those rainbow dollars to absorb the haemorrhage.
Personally though, I say FUCK that and FUCK them.
I’m blazing my own trail, far away, in a totally different direction, and going out to the edge. An edge that expands with every word I throw over it, and every time I do, it feels awesome.
It feels free.
That’s why I’m on Substack as well. A creative arena that’s open and expansive, where a writer can go all in with his chips, and be confident that the table he’s sitting at, isn’t rigged.
The literary establishment has surrendered and allowed itself to be swallowed up by the Woke tyranny, which serves as a willing dupe for the globalist elite agenda.
Substack is one of those free, authentic, and imaginative frontiers which is fighting back against the tyranny of speech and expression censorship. It’s striking jaw-shattering blows into the ugly face of Woke.
It’s a vast and free landscape where a writer can flourish, and show the rest of the world, a way to move forward and live freely.
No matter what though, I will always write for me, the individual. And I write for individuals, for those who are free and independent, in both mind and spirit.
There’s no compromise on that!
And so, when I write, it’s pouring out from me, for me. I’m the judge of my writing, and I decide if what I write is the hitting mark.
What’s my barometer for that?
How do I judge my writing?
Simple! If when I read what I’ve wrote – I feel electricity, a spark of life, and I’m not falling deep into a coma – then I know I’m on the right track. Because chances are I won’t be putting my readers to sleep.
As a writer you’re halfway there, if don’t bore your readers into a narcotic state.
Now if my words parlay a profound message, while igniting some spark within readers which sets their pulses racing, then so be it. But for me, the joy of writing and it then being read, is what counts. Not the message or the moral of the writing.
No doubt, sometimes I have an abstract or concrete idea, or philosophical concept, or a curious subject, for which I wish to convey to the reader. And I’ve then sketched out a skeleton for a blog, a plan to move forward to express a particular sentiment. But even then, it’s flexible and it’s loose. And I can throw that skeleton into the boneyard at any juncture.
Other occasions I’m going out on a total whim. And what lands on the page is flowing from the wild and unhinged streams of my spontaneous consciousness.
Along the way, strange concepts, and even stranger ideas surface. Bizarre images, and crazy poetic metaphors pop out of the hopper, they spring out from my own unique, vivid, and totally fucked up and wild imagination.
It’s all good. That’s raw material for writing.
Writing freely is explosive, it shatters the pillars of what’s declared ‘reality’ by the collective consensus. It paves the way for new reality. It can illicit new ideas and visions, which can engender exciting, and jolting emotions and experiences; that move out from standard response channels.
Through free and adventurous writing, a new life, a new world can spring forward, that stretches far beyond the lowest common denominator.
Writing that’s striking, dynamic, and electric in nature is like a hurricane that blows everything stale and weak away. It can also be a violent river, and when it flows…
It just pours out like honey.
And on Substack, as I do on Awaken your inner power, I’m creating on the ideal platform from which to pour that honey.
Let’s see, it may just attract a swarm of angry bees.
Who knows?
I may get stung, but I’m willing to take my chances.
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