Assiduous

As reported in my last two entries, I've finished my first novel after three long years. As good as it felt to finally be able to put one of my projects to rest, I've already moved on to the next. And guess what, it's almost finished.

Those of you who followed my previous blog Scattered Thoughts might remember the mention of a book entitled I've no reason to dream.

It was supposed to be the greatest love story ever told, but it's become a different beast altogether. It's a true horror story, told unlike anything which has ever been done before. The book will also be a detective story of sorts, packaged with the evidence the readers will need in order to piece together the cryptic contents of its pages. It's an interactive experience on a level which could keep people busy for years without ever scratching the surface.

I guarantee you, this is literary history in the making.

An open letter to the literary agents of the world.

To whom it may concern,

My name is Davlin Stewart and without the written word I would not be alive today. What started as a form of therapy has turned into a passion which only burns brighter with each passing day. My book, My time in Hell and other whimsical tales, covers eight years of struggle where I'd turned to writing in order to make sense of the world around me. Just a few of the few topics covered within its pages include relationships, molestation, drugs/alcohol, religion, contracting STDs, a five day stint in a mental hospital, the trials of being an unknown author, performing in open mics, making progress with mental illness and finding a sense of peace despite it all. Since this features almost a decade of work the reader will get to see the growth I've made not only as a person, but a writer as well. The market for this kind of work is massive, because there is something here for everyone.


Since this is a business, let's talk shop. The following are books which are similar to the one I'm offering you today, as well as the number of copies sold:
The perks of being a wallflower by Stephen Chbosky-more than 700,000 copies.
Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers-several hundred thousand copies
I hope they serve beer in Hell by Tucker Max- over one million copies worldwide

I understand your reticence with signing an unpublished author. While it's true I've not been featured in any known publications I am not unknown. In a year and a half my blog Scattered Thoughts has generated 5,829 views from all over the world and this is just one of my many outlets. While this may not sound too impressive, keep in mind I've been using only Facebook and self promotion to help get my name out to the masses. Once people find my work, they always come back for more and I guarantee these numbers will grow exponentially if I could only reach a larger market.

I've spent the last two dollars I have in order to buy a cup of coffee for the free wi-fi in order to send this email to you. My heart and soul has been put into this work and all I ask is for you to not take this lightly. If you agree to represent me you will acquire so much more than book; you'll also get an artist with a drive and work ethic the likes of which you have never seen. Snooki and "The Situation" are currently New York Times bestsellers and I'm convinced each of them is illiterate. Don't you think it's time we see what a person with talent and an undying love of the written word can accomplish?

Thank you for getting this far,
Davlin Stewart

At long last...

The Scattered Thoughts rewrite is complete.

The new title is,

My Time in Hell
and other whimsical tales.

Now, I just have to accomplish the impossible and get it published.

Excurse

Daisy-Brand New

I awoke Friday morning at 11:11 feeling more exhausted then when I finally passed out six hours prior. I'd dreamed about her four times which left me in a sad, nostalgic funk I was never able to completely shake. Memories of the dreams would intersect with those from the times we shared, yielding a surreal thought process, and it left me on the brink of tears I wouldn't allow to be released. Right now, 12 hours away she's working on reclaiming her identity and as for me, well...I'm fighting just to get through each passing day.

I'm running out of options and the hole just keeps growing deeper and deeper. My brain constantly shifts from focusing on financial woes, old wounds, my deteriorating mental state, but ultimately always leads back to her. Sometimes, I catch myself checking my email in hopes of finding one from her, but those days are long gone. All that remains is the here and now, which is something I no longer truly want.

Every conversation since moving back has substantiated things which have, up until now, only been theories. While I'd love to share all of this with you, I've also seen first hand how quickly these blogs can be misinterpreted and later used as ammunition against me.

My words are the only things I have left to trust and I don't think people are quite ready to hear what it is I have to say.

See where this rope ends?
There is a noose and it looks,
to be just my size.

I'm back! Oh, you didn't know I left. Well...this is awkward.

Set by example-Twiztid

When I disappeared the way I did, there were a lot of hurt people left behind. For six months I was a ghost and during the silence I lost myself. Then, almost everything else.

Now I'm back and those I'd abandoned are calling me out. It's a strange thing. I've never meant to hurt anybody, I'm not malicious by nature. However, it does seem that no matter what decisions I make, those closest to me get burned in the process.

So I run. I push everyone away so that when I collapse in on myself, they don't get dragged down with me. I'm starting to not feel so great about the person I've become. In the last couple of months I've heard some of the people I've loved the most say hurtful, but honest, things about what I am.

But they don't understand and I've run out of ways to explain. Here's the truth. Right now, I'm not well mentally. I think I'm actually starting to see what true madness feels like.

But you don't want to hear that.

So I bottle it up and it festers. This makes me sick and my actions become more and more desperate. And you're right, if it was just a breakup I could get over it. But it's fucking not. There's so much more to it.

My bones are starting to crack from the pressure.

So, yeah, the way I left was shitty and I'm sorry for it. But I've got a lot on my plate right now. If you accept my apology, that's fantastic. Though, if you need to get some bashing out of your system, please do me a favor and give me a few months to heal.

Picking up the pieces.

Yesterday, my mom and step dad's house was broken into and ransacked. A few hours later I made a recording on my Mp3 player while walking through what was left of my room. What follows is the transcription. The line breaks are an attempt to mimic the cadence...so deal with it.

I stand at the top of the stairs,
and,
almost every,
piece of me,
is scattered all around.
A few...precious treasures are missing,
others broken.
and I'm not really sure what to think right now.
As I walk,
across,
the room,
there are memories.
Every piece,
of baggage that you carry,
is a memory.
From the clothes you wear,
to your Mp3s,
Everything you own,
has a story,
to tell.
This is what makes us sentimental.
But,
to walk in,
and see your entire life,
in a physical disarray.
Everywhere you look,
is a memento.
A painting of Bruce Campbell.
Small plastic Batmobile.
Half a dozen spirals.
Then you start to notice the empty spaces.
and you see what they took.
you look,
at the spot,
where your 360 used to be.
It fucks with your head,
which is a fragile thing.
As my eyes assess the damage,
I think,
"Jesus Christ,
what's left to take?"
Right now,
I can hear noises downstairs.
And I'm terrified.
yet,
also relieved.
I just wanna be awake when it happens.
It feels like my time is up,
and,
I think this is it.
And I can't,
I can see everything,
but I can't,
find a goddamn pen to write it all down.
I don't know if anyone,
is going to hear this,
but I hope they do.
At the top of the stairs again.
I've booby trapped the door with a broom.
And I think about everything,
her,
the fights,
empty promises,
broken ones.
all of it and,
I wish I had a second chance,
and actually used it to show her what I'm made of.
Now I,
see it all.
and it doesn't do a damn bit of good.